#WAIT i can use the content labels now :3

[ambrwolf]

Knowing a dribk is like,,,, half alcohol but not tasting it

[oshinsimblr]

hey friends! i was unable to post all of my early access content bc i'm sick. but i was able to post this video, which in my honest opinion are the major features in this 'romance' pack.

IS IT WORTH $40?

DEPENDS ON HOW BADLY YOU NEED THESE FEATURES TBH.

this review is brought to you by the ea creator network. all of my opinions are my own. i must disclose this per FTC guidelines #ad.

*i do not cover everything in the pack, only the things that stood out for me lol. i'm sorry i'm not used to doing full reviews up here

the attraction system is helpful and expands dating (which is great, but we've had mods that could do this for some time: pick your poison). the romantic satisfaction is the star here. i love being able to create one sided relationships and actually take care of our romantic relationships with sims. this is a valuable feature for me!

cupid's corner is a nice "hey i don't need this mod" anymore type of feature. prior to this i was using lumpinou's meet & mingle which allowed me to meet with sims (platonic and romantic). i dislike that you can not write custom bio's for your sims. i love the way the app functions, i love saving sims and adding them to our rel. panel - and getting to know them through the phone first. i wish we could've defined our sims favorite music/foods/color etc.

i'll admit it, i'm a sucker for dynamics. family dynamics from the sims 4 growing together are so good (minus the fact that everyone wants to be f*cking jokesters after one joke lol). but i love them! they really do impact my sims relationships. the different romance dynamics are interesting. for example: a strained romance dynamic makes it VERY hard for your sims to communicate. it's like your sims will randomly hug each other, but then 5 secs later they're upset. they want to love each other so badly but they can't lol.

now onto random things that excited me. you can go to cupid's couples counseling. i did not know we'd actually be able to answer questions. these sims had a strained romance dynamic and it was so bad - the therapist suggested we come back. but when i tried to schedule it again, they were booked and i had to wait to schedule another appt. which is great, because in the meantime your sims are going downhill fast and you have to keep the peace until then (if you choose).

there are new pop ups and invites. there's even one for a reality dating show lol. you can turn these off in game settings. (if you're wondering, mr. landgrabb never showed up at the motel he wanted to meet at. he stood my sim up. don't judge me, i thought there was simoleons involved).

new crafted dates are cool. you can choose whatever you want to do on them. there's new social interactions based on the activities you choose. you can also invite other sims to these (double dates woohoo!) you can also create crafted hangouts. i like these, i got this cute picture as a reward after a succesful crafted hangout. if you're familiar with mws weddings, it's the same idea. except this works well and isn't as glitchy lol..

another random feature i never needed, but now i find it useful. you can create your own relationship label that will appear in the rel. panel

it's unfair how gorgeous this world is... because there's nothing to do. this is all set dressing.

you can declare your love here.. at the wall of love.

you can buy flowers or edible sweet treats at this shop in the background.

you can get local food here. there are 3 new dishes and spicy hot chocolate. now, i'm not mexican (the world is inspired by mexico) BUT 3 new foods isn't cutting it for me. technically only 2, because one is a vegan option. no pozole, enchiladas, guacamole, tamales?? i'm a foodie, so i take full offense to that.

you can woohoo or sleep at the motel.

you can travel.

go fishing or enjoy a swim.

sit here and chat.

view this for a moodlet.

travel again.

check in a penthouse.

there's a nightclub, gym and lounge. but you get the idea.. there's nothing culturally unique about this world which makes me sad. no festivals? i'd love seeing a mariachi band play at the lounge. something. otherwise, keep the world and add more features right? i would've loved table proposals (sims 2 anyone?). or frisky couch makeouts. so many missed opportunities here.

there's more i could say but i feel like this post should be a little helpful in deciding wether this is a pack you need right now, or wait for a sale! i personally love having a complete colection, so i've always wanted every expansion. though i recieve the pack for free, i owe you my honesty and i want to start doing blog/written content because it's easier to process my thoughts through the excitment. i will enjoy this pack, i do like it, and only time will tell as i integrate it with my current gameplay. i hope this was helpful!

* if you remember, use my code OSHINSIMS at checkout if you decide to purchase this pack. that way, at least i get a % of your purchase and EA doesn't get all your coins 😉

thank you! just keeping simming, always stay wavy, peace x

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Just Another Notch

Masterlist Part 2/?? Part 3

Bucky Barnes x Plus Size F!Reader

Summary: If Bucky thinks his charms will work on you, then you’re gonna put up one hell of a fight to prove him wrong.

Word Count: 1,711

Warnings: None, but will contain explicit content 18+, in future chapters, read at your own discretion.

Your alarm didn’t wake you, it was a loud knocking at your door. You jump up, tapping your phone screen to see that it was only 6am. Now you’re gonna be groggy all morning, your alarm was set for 6:45. You trudge to your door, ready to rip down whoever it was that woke you up. When you open the door you see Bucky with bright eyes, two coffees in hand. You quickly read the label and see that it’s your favorite cafe in Brooklyn. How did he get coffee from there this early?

“Good morning.” He chirps out, reaching one of the paper cups forward. You cross your arms in front of you, refusing the coffee. “How can I help you?” You say curtly. You take in his attire, he was ready for training. You could almost laugh, him and Steve take their sponsorships too seriously, can’t be seen exercising in anything other than Under Armor.

“I still felt bad about last night and thought, maybe I could repay you by helping you get a head start today.” The smirk on his lips did nothing to ease your agitated mood. “I said we’re even, it’s fine.” You say, wondering if he was being genuine. It was far too early for all of this. You rub your sleep filled eyes, pushing your hair behind your ears. “Anything else?” You say, wanting to get some more sleep before the day of literal hell you were about to endure. Physically, you were the apex, but mentally and strategically, not so much.

You couldn’t wield a gun, you’d been studying a makeshift dictionary of all the military terms Steve and Bucky say during missions. You couldn’t take directions. Besides overpowering the strongest guy in Kansas during a championship, you’d never learned how to combat fight. You have no clue where to hit someone or how hard so you don’t do fatal damage. You were written up on your first mission.

Your adrenaline was pumping and you thought the gunman was bigger than what he was, causing you to dent his chest in, instantly killing him. The punch was meant to lay him out, not kill him. You’d been reminded time and time again during initial training that the goal was to subdue, shield rehabilitates these criminals.

So now training was mainly a mental game for you. Sizing people up, you were no use against magicians or witches but physically, you worked hard to discern people’s capabilities. You’d never trained with Bucky or Steve before. You’d never fought against a super soldier, you couldn’t even imagine their strength. Therefore, you’d never opted to train with them.

“No, I’m sorry for waking you.” He says, his eyes tell a completely different story. But you hear some sincerity in his voice. Maybe you were being too harsh to him. He really hadn’t done anything wrong, yet. You were the one who assumed he was drunk, you were the one who enjoyed him innocently helping you clean his mess. If you put aside all your wild ideas, Bucky had actually been very nice to you.

While no one had made any progress in talking to you or really even introducing themselves, Bucky was willing to sit with you and enjoy a bowl of cereal, alone. No other outside force willing him to be there. He’d apologized after spilling milk on you, helped clean it. He wasn’t even looking, and you were speed walking behind him, what if it truly was just an accident. Here you were being rude to the only person who’s shown you kindness.

You wanted to hit yourself. Mentally you were painting your back porch red. Guilt was slowly filling you as you watch him drop his head, nodding as if he’s finally realizing the situation, you wanted him to leave. But not anymore, “Let me get dressed, 5 minutes!” You wait for him to look up at you before you close the door in his face, you could see his smile return, but this time it looked triumphant and genuine.

You want to play this game with him, you knew that much. So why not make a big move and wear your new sports bra set with matching spandex shorts. You’d never worn just a sports bra, and always wore leggings. Your best friend convinced you that you looked good in it, so Nike gladly took your money. This would surely prove your suspicion, were his intentions innocent?

You looked in the mirror, pushing and pulling at your breast in the tight spandex. Your cleavage had to be perfect for this to work. You rolled down the waistband of the shorts, letting it show off your curves. You run to the bathroom to do your morning routine. Walking out of your door in less than the 5 minutes you estimated. You had no idea why you had such a pep in your step. As if you were rushing back to him.

“Thanks.” You say taking the coffee from his hands. He stands there frozen as you turn for the elevator, he watches your ponytail sway across your shoulders, then he lets his eyes travel down, to see your back dimples on display. This one he would fight for, his improvised plan didn’t work last night, he’ll admit his ego was hurt a little by his advances not working. So he gave you another chance with coffee this morning.

It almost didn’t work, he was showing real sadness when you rejected him again, but out of self pity, not because you were being rude. But it worked, and you folded. Judging by the way you’re dressed, he knew you were playing along with him. He would win in the end, he always does. Besides, you’d be an adversary opponent and the best prize.

You wish you could’ve told him black coffee wasn’t really your style, but you had too much pride, sipping it empty on the way down to the training floor. Bucky would probably go left to the gym, and you’ll go right, to the simulation room. It was handy for someone like you. Training with real people was a liability, so holograms it was. “See you later.” You nod to him.

“Where you going? I thought we were training together.” He sounds disappointed. “Oh you meant like the two of us? I thought it was a wake up call, not an invite.” You scratch the back of your neck, kind of embarrassed. “I figured you could use the change of scenery.” He laughs.

You follow him into the gym, a place you’d only been once, during the orientation tour. It was huge, needing the capacity to handle super hero’s being thrown around. Bucky walks over to a bench, setting down his coffee cup and shedding his windbreaker jacket. You toss your empty cup in the trash can beside the door, slowly walking up to him. “So what did you have in mind?” You ask, nervous as to what exactly you had gotten yourself into.

“First some basic warm up drills, then I figured I could help you with that strength depth perception.” He grabs two jump ropes from the wall and tosses one your way. “Fury was worried about you at the last meeting.” You roll your eyes, of course he was.

“I didn’t know you discussed me at meetings.” You say, starting to jump rope. He joins you a second later, going miles faster than you. “We discuss everything, especially things that could be a liability.”. He wasn’t wrong, it rubbed you wrong that you couldn’t defend yourself at these meetings. But you understood why they did it, you killed a man.

“Right.” You huff out, stopping and dropping the jump rope, you had no endurance. Bucky continues for another minute, the rope turning into a blur as it whizzed around him. You ran the track around the perimeter of the gym, till you legs felt like jelly. Again, Bucky kept going, literally running laps around you.

When he came to a jog in place in front of you, you took in the fact that no sweat had formed on his brow, meanwhile you left a puddle in the floor when you stood up. “Okay, let’s start with defense.” He brings his fist to face level and you match his stance. “We both know you have offense covered. But what about protecting yourself. Other people are strong too.” He made a good point.

You had beginners luck, dodging the first punch Bucky threw at your stomach. The second, not so much. You suck in a breath when his metal fist makes contact with your rib. “You’re supposed to block!” He sounds upset, like he was the one who just got hurt. “Yeah I got that.” You wheeze out, dropping to your knees, clutching your stomach.

Just as you’ve almost composed yourself the door to the gym swings open. “Are you ready for complete destruction, son?” It’s Steve walking in, but his face immediately drops when he sees you. “Excuse me.” He’s obviously embarrassed. You just look at Bucky and try to hold in a laugh. “Seriously?” You whisper, his cheeks are red but he nods.

“I’ll take that as my cue.” You say, waddling over to the vending machine in the corner. The blue on the Aquafina label reflected in your eye. You’re gonna die if you don’t get a drink. You tap your Apple Watch to the card reader, typing in A5, as you watch your water bottle be mechanically maneuvered around through a glass window you hear whispering. “She needs a snack already?”

You don’t know who said it, just that someone did, you didn’t turn around. Preferring to pretend it didn’t happen, you grab the water from the machine, drinking the whole thing in a couple chugs. You smash it between your hands, completely flattening it to the width of paper. It was loud, the cracking of the plastic, it silenced their hushed words. As you toss it into the trash can beside the door, you turn around and address both men.

“Thirst and hunger are two different things, wouldn’t you say?” And you leave, pushing past Natasha in the hallway as you make your way to the simulation room.

Taglist: @cjand10 @winterslove1917 @honestlywork @calwitch

[chans-room]

Side Effects of Affection

Pairing: Mingi x plus sized female reader (explicitly stated)

Genre: one shot, smut, fluff, established relationship

Rating: Mature/18+ — minors DNI

Warnings: reader is described as being curvy/plus sized!! — established relationship, pet names, discussions of doctors/gynocologists not listening to you (briefly), potential side effects of hormonal birth control (i ripped these from the one I used to be on) Explicit sexual content: manhandling, praise, body worship if you squint, oral (f. receiving), dumbification also if you squint, fingering, face sitting, masturbation (male), multiple orgasms, lighthearted discussions of a vasectomy lol

Word count: 3.7k

Author Note: I started writing this months ago for @kiestrokes birthday and I am an adhd gremlin so I never finished it. But now it’s Mingi’s birthday so I decided to push myself to finish! So I hope you like it babes 🖤 also if anyone comes at me sideways about the reader being plus sized: you will be blocked ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[Masterlist]

“Babe we have to stop at the pharmacy,” you huffed, slamming the door shut as you slid into the passenger seat. You were already annoyed that you had to go back to the gynecologist despite being there less than a week before, but seeing a new doctor who wasn’t your usual, plus his decision to ignore your request with no real reason why had soured your whole outlook on the day.

“What’s up babe?” Mingi asked, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as he leaned over the center console to cup your face in his hand, “Are you okay? What’d they say?” 

“The usual run around, bullshit doctor stuff,” you shrugged, settling into your seat with a frustrated pout. “He wants me to start another new birth control before he’ll even consider a fucking IUD, despite that being what I asked for. And I’m sure it’s gonna suck just as much as the one I just stopped taking.”

“I mean… I know it sucks but he’s a doctor. I mean, he should like, know things, right? I know it sucks to get periods and have to remember to take them every day but—“ he shrugged but you cut him off with a scoff and a glare. Of course Mingi didn’t get it, how could he? 

“Mingi, baby, I know he’s a doctor but I live in my body. Remembering to take them and bleeding once a month is the least of my problems. Just wait, when we get home I’ll show you.”

—

You threw the foil packet of pills on the coffee table, holding onto the folded sheet that listed the potential side effects. “Alright, get comfortable, this is gonna take some time,” you instructed your boyfriend, watching him settle onto the floor with his back against the couch, pillow in his lap. He stared up at you expectantly, a content smile on his face. “Alright so this,” you said shaking the paper, “is the warning label for my birth control.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Wait so there’s a warning for your birth control?” You simply raised your eyebrow at him, and began to unfold the paper. 

With every crinkly unfurling Mingi made sounds of pain and disbelief, but you ignored him until the sheet had been completely unfolded – the nearly 3 foot long sheet looked almost comical in your hands, “Yes, my love, there is most definitely a warning label for my birth control. We don’t have all night so I’ll give you the highlights.”

“Baby, I had no idea,” he frowned, eyes softening slightly as he sunk into his frame, looking smaller and more boyish than he usually did.

“I know you didn’t, honey, but you should know this just in case I start complaining about these things,” you smiled, heart softening at your boyfriend’s actions. He reached out to you and took your hand, pulling you around the coffee table to stand in front of him before burrowing his face into your soft, plush stomach. 

“Go on babe, I’m listening,” he mumbled.

“Alright so here are the most common, affecting 1 in every 10 people who take these. Yeast infections, mood swings which can include the worsening or onset of depression, it can cause altered sexual desire, nervousness, and dizziness. Can cause you to feel sick, get random abdominal pain, acne, pain in your tits, and enlargement and/or discharge from your tits. They can also cause painful menstruation, irregular bleeding, no or reduced bleeding, and changes in weight.”

You cautioned a look down at your boyfriend, who was currently frowning into your stomach. However, he didn’t say anything nor make eye-contact with you, so you took it as permission to continue. 

“Alright, so now the more uncommon, which could affect up to 1 in 100 people. There could be changes in appetite – oh wow that actually makes sense – elevated blood pressure, abdominal cramps and bloating, which we already have from the periods but whatever. There can also be rashes, skin discoloration which continue even after you stop taking the pills. It can also cause excessive hair growth or hair loss, and – good lord – altered blood fats including increased triglycerides.”

The startled sound from your boyfriend pulled your attention from the paper in your hands down to your boyfriend, who was looking up at you in horror. “Your birth control can do all of that? Why? Why is that allowed?”

You laughed softly, shrugging. “I don’t know, honey. I’ve asked myself that so many times. But don’t worry, as far as I know, I’m fine.”

“But how do we know you’re fine? I don’t think you should take these anymore,” he mumbled sadly. 

His reaction tore at your heart; he was so genuinely distraught at the thought of you getting sick from your birth control. “Baby, I’m okay. Please don’t stress too much about it,” you cooed, scratching his scalp gently. “There’s only a bit more, and they’re the rare ones, okay?” You asked, making him nod sadly. You suppressed a giggle; you couldn’t believe your boyfriend, who so many people were intimidated by, was whining like a puppy because of your birth control. 

“Just keep going, I wanna know what to look out for just in case.”

“Alright, well, there can be severe allergic reactions of various types, it can cause glucose intolerance, eye irritation when wearing contact lenses, fucking jaundice apparently? And painful reddish skin nodules. And the super rare side effects are apparently liver tumors, lupus, inflammation of the optic nerve, blood clots your fucking eyes, large intestine and pancreas inflammation, gallbladder disease and gallstones, and a blood disease called that causes kidney failure. Good christ, I didn’t even know about some of these,” you sighed, shaking your head as you balled up the sheet and threw it on the table next to you.

He looked up at you, tears brimming in his eyes, “Baby… you deal with all that… just to let me nut in you?”

The absolute devastation in his eyes normally would have made you melt, but his blunt phrasing forced you to bite your lip to keep from laughing in his face. How could you when he looked so genuinely distraught? You settled for a sympathetic nod.

He whined again pitifully, frown deepening. You saw an idea pass through him before you felt his hands start massaging your plush thighs, working his way up your leg softly, going under the hem of your dress before stopping when his hands met the fat of your ass. “Let me make it up to you baby, please?”

You really couldn’t help but laugh now; leave it to your boyfriend to try and apologize with sex – an apology for something he really had nothing to do with anyway. But who were you to deny him? You figured it would help get that sad expression off his face and knowing how pussy drunk he got, the whole conversation would likely be forgotten for the time-being.

“Alright,” you sighed dramatically.

You weren’t expecting him to lift you off the floor, his hands not once leaving your skin as he made his way down the hall to your bedroom. Your laughter bounced off the walls as you went, limbs constricting around him in fear of being dropped. 

“Mingi put me down, I can walk there on my own,” you giggled as he kicked open your bedroom door.

He dropped you on the bed, pulling his shirt off before settling between your legs with a shrug, his cheek resting on your exposed thigh, “I mean, yeah you could walk, but why waste the effort when I’m right here. Besides, I know you, and you like to make me chase you. And I don’t have the patience for that today.”

“Don’t have the patience? Are you that excited about getting in my pants, Mingi?” you asked, sitting up on your elbows to look at him.

“Of course I am, have you seen you?” he replied, looking almost offended at your question. 

No matter how much time you had spent with Mingi, you were always surprised at how genuine he was. There was never any question of what he wanted, or what he meant. He always told you exactly how he felt; especially when it came to his desire for you.

“Come here, baby,” you pleaded, “I need to kiss you right now.”

He scrambled forward to slot his lips over yours, allowing you to slink your arms around his wide shoulders, knees falling open to accommodate his narrow waist. His weight on you was comforting and warm – it soothed all the parts of your brain that hadn’t stopped firing since the doctor’s office. But it also stoked the flames of desire building in your gut. 

The slow grind of his already hard cock against you had you gripping his hair, pulling him off you to moan, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling of your bedroom made him chuckle.

“Who’s excited now, baby,” he smirked down at you, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t be smug, you know I want you just as much as you do,” you panted, releasing your grip on his hair and falling backwards into the pillows with your eyes closed.

You felt his rumbling laugh before the pressure of his body disappeared off you, sitting back onto his knees between your spread legs. His fingertips ghosted over you; trailing over your throat, down your chest, and coming to a stop on your hips. “Baby,” he questioned softly, making you hum in response, “Can I take your dress off?”

You nodded, feeling his hands spread out across the tops of your thighs, digging into the dimpled flesh momentarily before flipping up the edge of the skirt, exposing the black, polka dotted mesh you were wearing underneath. “Do you like them?” you asked.

“Of course I do,” he sighed, hands spreading out across your hips, fingertips pushing into your love-handles before hooking under the material. “Are these new?” He asked, snapping the nand against your skin. You hummed again in response, and then felt him tug on the fabric. You lifted your hips slightly before settling back onto the sheets. His hand caught the ditch of your knee, maneuvering your limb to get the soft underwear off you, before repeating the action with the other leg. “You’re so pretty baby, my pretty baby.”

The soft praise made your toes curl, a shuddered breath heaving out of you as your eyes fluttered open to look at him. The faded orange and yellow hair hung in his face, in front of his eyes, but that couldn’t hide his desire. He wasn’t looking at your face, his eyes were roaming over your exposed skin. The absolute need in his gaze gave you goosebumps. 

“Mingi, baby,” you whined, squirming on the sheets in desperation, “Please.”

He didn’t bother responding to you verbally, his hands collecting the fabric of your dress, slowly dragging it up your frame, eyes chasing the hem as he went. “Arms up,” he rasped. You complied, letting him pull the dress off your body and toss it off the side of the bed before his eyes connected with yours. “I am so fucking in love with you,” he groaned, tipping forward, diving into space between your tits. 

The sudden shift and the feeling of his mouth on your skin had you gasping, back arching into him. He slipped one of his arms under your lower back, keeping you arched and on display for him as he worked his mouth across your chest and neck. 

“Mingi, please, I need you,” you whined, rolling your hips into his purposefully, nails dragging across his shoulders. He looked up at you through his eyelashes before detaching from your skin with a wet pop! The sight made heat flush across your skin and a wave of arousal to rocket through you. Mingi’s full, plush lips were cherry red, and his eyes were wild.

“Whatever you need baby,” he grinned, shifting his weight to one side before pulling your leg out from underneath him before repeating the action on the opposite side. Now eyelevel with your cunt. He made eye contact with you for a split second, obviously seeing whatever he needed in your gaze before disappearing into your folds.

The first touch of his tongue shot through you like lightning, zinging up your spine and ripping a breathless gasp out of you. “Fuck, you’re so good to me baby,” you sighed, watching as his eyebrows furrow as he settled himself further into the sheets. The sight of him between your legs was always something that turned your brain into mush. His shoulders wedged between your thighs folded you open almost obscenely, his fingers indented into the plush skin of your thigh, with his other sneaking up your torso to palm at your tits.

His tongue pushing into you made you gasp, eyes fluttering shut as you choked on air. “You’re thinking too hard, just relax,” he instructed, punctuating his sentence with a small nip to your thigh before diving back into your folds.

“Does it count if I’m only thinking about you?” you moaned, trying to relax into the sensations and pleasure Mingi was giving you.

“Yes,” he mumbled, remaining buried between your legs. “Stop thinking.”

You nodded, tangling your fingers into his shaggy hair. You weren’t sure if you could ever stop thinking about Mingi. He was on your mind 24/7. You wondered if he was safe and happy whenever he was away from you, and you were consumed with adoration for him when he was near you. 

But Mingi proved you wrong when his skilled tongue started strumming against your clit. You could no longer create a coherent thought – all that existed was him, his mouth, and his hands on you. 

“Shit, fuck, Mingi,” you keened breathlessly. The hum vibrated through your bones, making your eyes roll back.

“That’s right, my love, say my name,” he all but growled.

“Mingi,” you choked, feeling the pad of one of his fingers brush against your clit. Your hips hitched off the bed trying to chase the sensation. “Mingi, please!”

“So sensitive, baby. My pretty baby,” he cooed, making you whine. “I know, I’m being mean, I’m sorry. Lemme make it up to you.”

You weren’t sure what he meant until you felt one of his long, knobby fingers breach your walls, a deep groan leaving both of you in sync. You knew you were both beyond words at that point – your brain had been rendered useless by the man between your legs, and he was too focused, too fascinated by the view to make sense. 

He went slow, working the digit in deep and intentionally, finding the spongy bump on her inner walls – chuckling breathlessly when your thighs tightened around his wrist, trapping his hand where it was. He simply bullied his shoulder between your knees, pushing them open and pinning one down to the bed. 

You weren’t sure what to expect next, but the simultaneous sensation of his lips wrapping around your clit and another finger sinking into you left you reeling. Your body was buzzing and you felt as if you were floating, desire and arousal firing through your nerves rapidly. You couldn’t formulate the words to warn him you were close, too focused on what he was doing, and before you knew it you were cumming with a silent scream. Your whole body locked up as you rode out the ebbing waves of pleasure. 

After a few moments, you deflated against the sheets, releasing the hold you had unintentionally put Mingi in. 

“God you’re so fucking hot,” Mingi whined, dropping his head onto your thigh, pressing a series of wet kisses into the soft skin, tongue darting out to run across a stretch mark. “I need you to sit on my face. Like right now.”

Without warning, he flipped you both so he was laying on his back with you sitting on his chest. Your eyes widened as he smiled innocently up at you, hands already gliding up your back to try and convince you to do what he asked. “Baby, no.” You argued, making him furrow his eyebrows in concern. “You already fucked the bones out of my legs. I’ll give you head but I’m not sure I have the energy to keep myself from suffocating you if I sit on your—“

The truly pained whimper coming from underneath you made you freeze as you looked down, seeing Mingi’s pout and the genuine sadness in his eyes. “That’s not nice. You can’t say mean things about yourself like that. I don’t like it.”

“Honey, I was joking—“ you sighed, but he cut you off again.

“No, it’s not a joke to me. We said no more negative self-talk, remember?” He argued. You sighed, nodding — he was right. You had both agreed there would be no self deprecating jokes, or casual remarks that skewed negative about yourselves or each other after you both discussed your previous bouts of depression and self-loathing. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry, it just slipped out,” you softened, brushing away the faded orange hair that was stuck to his forehead. 

He nodded, humming in acceptance before the corner of his mouth turned up, his hands running up the backs of your thighs again. “I know how you can make it up to me.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he worked his touches up to your ass, where they settled after a firm squeeze, “I mean you’re already here.”

“I thought this was you making it up to me for having to take birth control and all the horrible side effects I’m facing.”

“I mean, can it not be for both of us?”

“I’m not gonna last long,” you warned him.

“Don’t care,” he said bluntly, “You’re fucking hot so I’m probably going to nut in record time anyway.”

You stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter – you couldn’t help it. You knew you were probably biased, but you thought Mingi was the most endearing person you had ever met. And despite being absolutely ridiculous – the sentiment of his statement still made you shiver. 

“Do you want me to—” you began to ask but he cut you off with a groan.

“No, no, fuck, don’t even talk about it or I’m gonna cum,” he ground out through gritted teeth before releasing a deep breath. “Alright, come sit on my face, now.”

The demand overrode any rational thought in your brain, causing you to rock forward, sitting on his face and grabbing the headboard.

He immediately went to work, sloppy and desperate. You couldn’t help but grind down into the feeling, chasing the rapidly building release. One of his hands gripped your waist, fingers flexing in the fat and divots as the other stroked his cock. You could feel his hips pitching off the bed every so often; the knowledge that you were the one making him so desperate drove you into a frenzy. 

You couldn’t think of anything other than the pleasure you were feeling. It was quicker than you expected – your orgasm slammed into you like a train. Your vision went white, and your ears rang as you pitched yourself to the side, collapsing next to him. You vaguely registered hearing Mingi cum with a guttural groan of your name.

After a few moments, feeling came back to your limbs and the roar of your blood rushing in your ears subsided, and you opened your eyes to find Mingi hovering over you with a small smile. 

“You okay, my love?” He asked, cupping your cheek. 

The look in his eyes was pure love and adoration, and it made you positively soft for him. He was really criminally adorable. 

If he was anyone else, you were sure he could have been a manipulative bastard – charming, funny, cute, and puppy dog eyes that made you fold instantly, and you knew so many people who would abuse that power. But this was Mingi, your Mingi. He would never intentionally hurt anyone; it simply never would have been a thought in his mind. And you loved him so much it made your bones ache. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Of course I know, baby,” Mingi sighed happily, eyes closing with the force of his smile, “And I love you, more than anything. That's why I’ve decided something,” he said, flopping back onto the bed.

“Mmhmm, and what's that honey?” You asked, closing your eyes as you laced your fingers with his at your side. 

“If you want, I’ll get a vasectomy,” he said brightly, making you sit up to stare at him in confusion. “That way, we can have all the sex we want and not have to worry about kids! And you can stop taking birth control, if you want to. Two birds, one stone.”

For a second you were convinced he had actually fucked your brain out as you tried to comprehend his words. You could not believe he was not only suggesting but willing to do something like that for you. “Fuck, Mingi you can’t hit me with some shit like that after what we just did,” you scoffed, willing the tears in your eyes to go away, before diving into his embrace, tucking your nose into the junction of his shoulder. “I still can’t feel my toes, babe, it’s not the time to decide if you’re gonna get a vasectomy.”

“Just think about it,” he shrugged, curling around you, keeping you tucked into him. “But I’d do anything for you. I mean it.”

“I love you too,” you whispered thickly, planting a chaste kiss on his neck.

He responded with a kiss to the top of your head, cradling your head in his hands. He was silent for a moment before asking, “Wait did you really cum so hard your toes went numb?” You giggled softly before nodding. “Nice,” he mumbled to himself.

“You’re ridiculous,” you sighed, pulling back to look at his face with an eye roll and a laugh.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “But I’m yours. And you’re mine,” he smirked, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours.

[Masterlist]

I’m just gonna tag some of my moots who I think would enjoy this: @kiestrokes @eureka-its-zico @j-a-nuary @gimmethatagustd @bibbykins @skyys-universe @minisugakoobies @chimivx

[kentopedia]

hi~! can i rq a scenario with dazai where his s/o finds out he abused akutagawa in the port mafia and gets super pisssd at him because they themselves were abused? thank u!

color me blue

FEATURING. osamu dazai x gn!reader — wc: 3.1k

SUMMARY: mori reveals dazai's true nature as a mentor to akutagawa.

CONTENTS: references to past abuse, arguments, pm!reader, ada!dazai, angst, typical dazai warnings lol, comfort at the end

notes: thank you for the request !! i hope this is okay <3

It’d begun like any other morning. Already exhausted, you woke with an overwhelming list of things to do, tasks that needed to be completed by the evening.

It was a typical routine for you, these days. As a high-ranking member of the Mafia, you never got a break. Not from your job, nor the menial chores you needed to suffer through in your personal life. The laundry, it seemed, wouldn’t do itself, no matter how much your boss paid you for all the illegal actions you’d committed.

And though it was wearisome, everything had been fine. The sun began to set, and you realized that for the rest of the day, you would be free.

That was, until your routine check-in with Mori somehow led to a disclosure of what had been years’ worth of private information.

He’d greeted you as normal, sat you down before his desk with his oily smile, and had you review everything you’d accomplished that week. Though you believed you would be free to go within half an hour, when you stood to leave, Mori released an oh, by the way, and reiterated the unanticipated torment that Dazai had put Akutagawa through.

For the entirety of his story, you sat without so much as a twitch of the muscle, but you couldn’t comprehend why Mori was telling you now. It had been nearly four years since Dazai left the Mafia, and though the Boss had been aware of your relationship as teenagers, he’d never given you any sign that he knew it’d continued after Dazai defected.

You’d both been careful, secretive. You never did anything to draw any suspicion or be labeled as a traitor, and the two of you were successful.

At least, you thought you’d been successful.

Mori had never once mentioned it, had never so much as batted an eye when you spoke about Dazai from time to time. Though, now, his grin was much too conniving, the words made of steel as he drew them out, directing them in a sharp point towards your chest.

He had no intentions of going after Dazai, that much was clear. Nor did he seem intent on killing you for your misdeeds. Already, he’d spun a vile web, knowing exactly how to use you as his best asset. With you still under his command, he had some sort of advantage over Dazai and the Agency.

Perhaps, his comments were just a test of your loyalty. If Mori laid that one tiny seed of doubt in your mind, would it be enough to fracture the bond between you and Dazai that had been unsevered for years?

You wanted to convince yourself, fervently, that the answer was no. You’d been by Dazai’s side for this long and nothing he’d done had turned you away. Yet, you were unprepared for the anger that had risen in you, burning so hot and ravenous that you were unable to think of anything else.

It was all that was on your mind as you returned to the apartment, a barren space that had been used for nothing besides meetups with Dazai since the two of you purchased it. Each wall was entrenched with years of as much sin as there was love. Items that belonged to both of you were scattered across the surfaces, but there was never anything too important.

At the end of the day, neither of you could stay there long.

You paced the apartment, thinking through everything that Mori had said, over and over again. An ache of sorrow fought against your warranted rage, and you stood by the door waiting for Dazai to enter.

As angry as you were with him, as horrified as you wanted to be, there were still years and years of comfort and gentleness that placed a cooling balm over your burning wounds.

Still, a part of you had always been envious that Dazai had managed to escape into something good, and you’d become the enemy to his organization. Now, it seemed, you were the only thing holding him back.

In some other universe, surely, there was a life better for the both of you than this.

Despite your affection, you inhaled, fortifying yourself for a regrettable conversation. You channeled your resentment into logic, rephrasing sentences in your mind until they were perfect, forming an argument that couldn’t be so easily shut down by Dazai’s soothing words.

The door clicked, unlocked by the only other person that held a key to the salacious space. He was humming to himself, an upbeat song that had been stuck on the radio charts for weeks.

Something about that simple action startled you, set you off kilter, and you crossed your arms, protecting yourself. You came here with a purpose, and you refused to diminish the weight of the conversation. A puff of steam left you on a heavy exhale.

Dazai threw the key on the counter and smiled, his eyes softening the moment they caught a glimpse of you. “You got here faster than I thought.” His tone was cheerful, and he seemed relaxed, without the foreboding cloud of misery pushing down on him. It was so unusual that you, almost, regretted bringing up what you’d learned from Mori at all.

Though, it wasn’t something you could just ignore. You straightened, making sure not to deflate under his undeniable warmth.

For a moment, Dazai didn’t realize that anything was wrong. He hung his coat up, stretched his limbs, and talked without facing you. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen one another. I thought about you all day,” he said, drawing out the syllables with a short laugh. “You’re always such a distraction. How will I ever get my work done?”

Dazai seemed so happy, and in all your years together, you’d never thought that would be a word used to describe him. It pained you to ruin that, even as your nails dug into your palm, trying to reconcile the two versions of Dazai that you knew.

You looked away. If you wanted to say what you needed to, you couldn’t bear to see the way his soft expression turned into one of animosity.

For a few more moments, he rambled on to himself, before realizing that you hadn’t said a word at all. You felt frozen in the middle of the room, your mouth dry as you tried to think of the best way to segue into the conversation.

“Hey.” Dazai had grown quiet, and he stopped mulling around the apartment, finally focusing all his attention on you. “What’s wrong, pretty?” There was a pout on his lips, his expression already falling from the bright, joyful one he’d worn when he’d entered. “I still haven’t gotten a kiss.”

You were weak for a moment, questioning if your anger was even worth it. A minute passed of your own silence before you resolved yourself, ending your hesitance. What you’d heard had upset you tremendously; you couldn’t just brush past it like it was nothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dazai’s face screwed up, eyebrows pinched, as he tried to remember what he could’ve possibly done to upset you that week. Though you often bickered about ridiculous things, it was rare that either of you lashed out in anger at the other.

Your expression was enough to let him know that this was one of those times. He hesitated. “I’m… not sure what you mean, love. Did I do something wrong?”

At that, you laughed, amused that he could play so innocent. He’d changed while in the Detective Agency, that much was certain, but you knew every bit of his soul and he certainly hadn’t been purified of his sins. “Mori told me about Akutagawa today. I doubted how much of it was true until I thought about it, really thought about it, and it makes sense.”

Dazai stared blankly back at you, his eyes searching your face for any more context. They flicked back and forth, round brown irises full of an uncertainty you weren’t sure was genuine. He was a master of manipulation, and you refused to ever be a pawn in his schemes, no matter how small. “I haven’t seen Akutagawa in weeks. Whatever’s happened to him—”

You stood straighter, keeping your hands tight at your sides. “I’m not talking about now, Osamu. I’m talking about years ago; back when you were training him.”

A moment passed; he didn’t blink. Nothing in his eyes betrayed him. “Would you care to provide me with some context?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” You scowled, clenching your teeth so hard that it hurt. “How could you do that to him? All those years, you and Oda kept it a secret from me. You hurt him. You were so cruel.” Your nails dug deep into your palm. “I told you everything that happened to me before I came to the Mafia. Every way that I was hurt, and you told me you understood. You promised me, and you turned around and did the same thing to him.”

Dazai held his body loosely, surprised by your sudden outburst of emotion. It seemed he was unsure what to do with the confession you’d just handed over. Dazai licked his lips, wetting the dry skin, and searched deep into your soul for the best way to soothe you.

But the betrayal, the hurt, was buried deep within you, and the anger wouldn’t fade so easily.

“I never kept secrets from you,” he said, instead of answering any questions. His tone was cool, unaffected, like you hadn’t just raised your voice as your countenance changed into one of distress. “You just never bothered to ask.”

Silence. You swallowed, hard, each notch of your spine stiffening. “That’s not fair. How was I supposed to know his training was any different from mine? Should my first suspicion have been that you were mistreating him?”

Dazai grew grim, the first twinge of emotion you’d seen since you’d spoken. He rubbed his temple. “You’ve got a right to be angry, but I never hid anything from you on purpose.” He reached out for you, his touch soft as he rubbed your bicep. “I just don’t know what you want me to do about it now, sweetheart. Why are you bringing this up?”

You didn’t want to tell him about Mori, not yet. That was a conversation for another time, and he wouldn’t hesitate to claim that bit of information was the more pressing matter.  

Instead, you inched out of his hold, gazing back at him with contempt. “You can’t be serious, Osamu.” His audacity shouldn’t have been surprising, but it shocked you, nonetheless. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” Dazai held his hands out like you would hand him over a script, a typed apology just for him to repeat back at you. “Never once did you show any concern for Akutagawa’s wellbeing when he joined the Mafia. Suddenly, you care, and I’m not sure why.”

“That’s not true!” you said, your cheeks hot with frustration. “We we’re friends—”

Dazai laughed, though it was mocking, without any true humor. “You expressed an interest in him that wasn’t ever reciprocated.”

You scrubbed your face, drained from his rebuttals, and put enough space between the two of you so that Dazai couldn’t touch you.

“Fine. Maybe we weren’t friends, but I wantedto be because I knew he understood. I thought we could get to know each other well. Then one day, he wouldn’t even speak to me anymore. He looked at me like I knew so much more than he did.” A finger was in Dazai’s face, scolding. “You fucked it all up. We’re just a year apart, Osamu. I didn’t want him to treat me like that just because I was dating his mentor.”

There was a break of silence. Dazai sniffed, recovering some sense of power in the conversation. “I’m sorry.” he said, but it was merely to appease you, no sincerity in the words. “Perhaps my methods of training were inappropriate and unethical, but it’s the Mafia, my love. What did you expect?”

Frustrated tears welled up in your eyes. “And if it had been me? If I had been under your command, would you have done the very same?”

At that, Dazai softened, his lips curling down. The light in his eyes flickered and faded, any happiness in his face muted. “It would never have been you. You know I could never bring myself to hurt you.”

You buried your face in your hands, his sweet comment doing little to soothe you. “He was just a kid—”

“I was too.” Dazai held your wrists gently, prying them away. He was frowning, dark eyebrows pinched together as he looked at you with both concern and betrayal. “You’re going to blame this all on me, when I was a child too, doing what I thought was right?”

“No. But you’re an adult now, and you still treat him the same way.” You shoved him away, putting space between you, never before having felt so cold in Dazai’s embrace. “He’s nothing more than a chess piece to you. That’s something I can’t accept.”

“Is that the case?” Dazai turned hard; suddenly he’d lost the upper hand. “You’ve got a lot of opinions on what’s right. Yet, remind me who’s the one still in the Mafia?” 

It was meant to hurt you, a low blow that stung and went straight to your chest. You hadn’t wanted to stay in the Mafia, but he’d never given you the choice. Dazai had left you with nothing more than a note and a promise, and you were too stupidly fond of him to ever let him go completely.

“It’s so hard to love you sometimes, Osamu,” you said, quietly, trying to keep your emotions at bay. “Your new friends at the agency get to be ignorant about the man you used to be, but I know just how cruel he was. I see him every time I look at you.”

Dazai stared back at you stunned and hurt. He flexed his fingers, but for once, he didn’t reach out for you.

You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.

The bathroom door slammed behind you, and you stood in front of the mirror, watching splotchy patches form on your skin from unreleased emotions. The sink ran, a steady stream with no end, to tune out your deep, calming breaths until you no longer felt that immense amount of anger.

You knew what you were getting yourself into by falling in love with a man like Dazai. You’d known it from the beginning. He was no different than all the people that had hurt you, the reason why you’d come to the Mafia in the first place.

Yet, he was so much more loving with you, gentle and patient, and you knew that under every layer of bad intent and regretful crimes, Dazai was a good person.

With a sigh, you turned off the sink and crept back into the room, feeling remorseful and miserable. The knowledge of what he’d done to Akutagawa was something you couldn’t forgive him for. It was horrible and traumatizing, but so were so many other things that he’d done.

You couldn’t place double standards on him for his previous actions. If you had loved him despite all of those things, you weren’t going to be able to stop now.

“Osamu?” you said in a quieter voice, creeping out of the bathroom silently, slinking within the shadows.

He was spread over the length of the couch, his head resting on the arm of it as he stared up at the ceiling. When you approached, he shifted into a seated position, waiting for you to speak.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you began, walking slowly towards him, drawn to him easily. “You’re not a difficult man to love. I’ve never felt that way.”

Dazai smiled, though it was half-hearted, and extended a hand to you. You took it quickly and he drew you into his lap, squeezing you tight. “Well, I certainly don’t make it easy on you.”

You were silent. He kissed your forehead, running a delicate touch across your back.

“I can’t take back what I did to him.” Dazai sighed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “The damage is done.”

“I know that.” You breathed, his calming scent wrapping around you, reminding you that no matter what, he would always be your home. “It’s not fair for me to judge you when I’m still in the Mafia. My crimes are no better than yours. Even if what you did…” you trailed off shaking your head. “No. You’re right, Osamu. It’s not fair.”

He guided your fingers to his lips, kissing each of them lightly with the beginnings of a smile. “I’ll never be a perfect man, but I’m trying to be a better one.” Though he refrained from showing vulnerabilities to most people, he was more open with you, more willing to reveal the parts of himself he despised the most. “I… hope you know that. It may not seem like I’m trying, but—"

“I know you are.” You ran a hand through his hair and swallowed, resting your cheek on top of his head. “Osamu, you’re already so different than you were when you left. You’ve changed much more than I have. It was horrible of me to diminish that.” You squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I said that.”

A minute passed before he spoke again, his breath so steady, a reminder that he was still there, with you, despite all attempts he’d made to leave you behind. We’ve seen every ugly side to one another. It makes it far too easy to be unkind. Doesn’t mean I’d ever love you any less.”

You smiled, though it was sad, but through your hurt you were still devastatingly devoted to him. It was just easier to ignore the damage he’d caused when you weren’t staring it right in the face, a walking, breathing reminder of the person he held inside him. The very type of man that had once hurt you.

You squeezed him tighter, blocking out the cruel memories of your past. Dazai had never laid a punishing hand on you, had never spat demeaning words at you that could never be forgiven. Through it all, he had adored you, treated you with a gentleness you’d desired, and loved you without conditions.

Brushing dark hair away from his forehead, your eyes softened, the darkness in him cracking as the light began to shine through. “I know, Osamu,” you said, your cheeks pinching, warm. “Despite it all, I will always love you without regrets.”

[beansprean]

My Familiar’s Ghost part 46

Masterpost

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Waist up of Nadja on a blue and mauve background wearing a purple dress and her hair up in a messy bun. She holds up a hand, brow creased in concern, and says ‘Wait, wait, Guillermo, slow down.’ 2. Zoom out to show her and Dolly sitting at a low coffee table with an open box labeled ‘glass eyes’ and a brown taxidermy rabbit wearing a striped sweater and a pair of round wire glasses. Nadja studies it with her hand on her chin, tongue poking out in concentration, and says ‘I am trying to find the best likeness…’ Dolly, little hands perched on the table, pipes up, ‘The mahogany, I think.’ In the foreground, ghost Guillermo’s shoulder and left arm are visible, hand hovering in midair and shaking with frustration. 3. Repeat. Guillermo curls his hand into a fist and lashes it downwards, shouting, ‘Are you even listening to me?!’ The table and all its contents bounces upwards, surrounded by his ghostly light, sending eyes scattering around and knocking the rabbit over. Nadja startles backward in shock and Dolly flicks her eyes toward Guillermo in surprise. 4. Shot of Guillermo on a blazing orange background splattered with red. He hovers, nearly-complete wraith cloak spiking around him with anxiety, and presses his hands to either side of his head with an expression of pure panic. He shrieks, ‘Vampire me is running on pure slayer instinct, mindlessly killing every vampire he comes across! And I just sent Nandor straight to him!’ 5. Reverse shot of Nadja and Dolly busying themselves by putting glass eyes back into their box. Nadja scowls and sucks her teeth dismissively, mocking, ‘’Slayer instinct’… I handled four of you on my own, Nandor can handle one.’ Dolly points out, ‘A vampiric one he can’t hypnotize.’ Nadja shoots back, ‘Whatever! What kind of great warrior would he be if he can’t even beat his own familiar?’ 6. Shot moves to include Guillermo floating on the other side of the table, Nadja in profile. She looks at him with an unimpressed expression and leans forward, elbow on the table, gesturing with her hand. She continues, ‘Besides, unlike your delightful murderful family, you never got the sweaty juice-bumps that made you want to kill us.’ Guillermo, calmed slightly, turns a bit pink and wrings his hands together, replying haltingly ‘Um. I mean. I did, at first. I just…may have…misinterpreted…’ 7. Repeat. Guillermo looks away, flustered, turning redder. Nadja drops her hand and stares at him questioningly. 8. Repeat. Nadja has a realization and gasps in delight, slapping her palm down on the table and grinning proudly at Guillermo, eyes full of stars. She crows, ‘You horny little mongrel!’ Guillermo avoids her gaze, only getting redder and more flustered, and tosses his hands up, saying, ‘Let’s not talk about that now!’ /end ID

[sluttyminghao]

make him cry ♡ c.sc

♡ pairing: domestic!seungcheol and female!reader ♡ w.c.: 2.1k ♡ genre: smut ♡ this fics contains: sub!seungcheol, dom!reader, use of a vibrating cock ring, use of handcuffs, mentions of a ball gag, overstimulation, seungcheol crying from pleasure, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, baby), cum eating (only one small scene) ♡ synopsis: seungcheol had a bad day at work, and his one request was for you to make him forget about it. challenge accepted. ♡ a/n: enjoy some submissive seungcheol &lt;3 ty to @sluttywonwoo for proof reading mwah feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

You stare numbly at the television, hoping that the monotonous show you had unconsciously decided to switch on would provide even a crumb of serotonin. After the day you had had at work, you truly just wanted to put your feet up and watch television until you fell asleep on your couch.

Seungcheol wasn't home yet, which only made you feel slightly more deflated, as he was your go-to for emotional and physical support. Just the thought of him and his pouty lips sent butterflies erupting throughout your chest and stomach, and a smile spreading across your tired lips.

You couldn't help but let your mind wander to a couple of nights ago when he had you pinned to your bed, his cock slamming into you with every thrust as he let out his frustrations from his day at work. 

“Such a good whore for me, taking my cock like a good girl.” His breathy sighs are coupled with his thighs slapping against your own, and mixing with your own whines and moans, it creates a cacophony of sound that would otherwise sound horrible but at the moment is like a beautiful symphony that sends you spiralling into your orgasm quicker than ever.

The door to your apartment creaking open is what draws you out of your thoughts, and your head whips around to observe an equally exhausted Seungcheol trudging through the doorway, his feet dragging along the carpet with an unpleasant scraping noise. You cringe at the noise and make a mental note to call him out on it later, but when he finally emerges into the room, you stow that thought away and immediately pull the blanket away from your body so he has room to slide in underneath.

He doesn't attempt a conversation just yet but fully accepts your warmth under the fuzzy blanket and snuggles right into your side, a content sigh leaving his lips. Your hand reaches up and courses through his dark, fluffy hair, only recently having been permed again. You had to admit, you loved when his hair was permed.

“How was work today, baby?”

He grunts and turns to face you, a pout and slight frown becoming prominent on his features. Your simple question had him reliving the dragging day, getting screamed at for things out of his control, and unreachable deadlines needing to be met. 

You can see the gears in his head turning, and it’s visibly stressing him out even more as he thinks about it. An idea sparks in your mind, and a mischievous grin pulls across your lips as you try to work out how to bring up your idea, which you'll label as “stress relief” to him.

“Work was shit. I don’t even want to go back tomorrow.”

“Well, what if I take your mind off it right now?” Your question makes him raise his head and stare at you quizzically, the gears in his head now turning for a completely different reason. His eyes urge you to continue, gleaming under the lights like there are twinkling stars encapsulated within his irises. He looks so cute when all his attention is directly on you.

“Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Seungcheol immediately throws the blanket off of you both and is quick to follow you to the bedroom only a couple of feet away like a lost puppy. You can hear his socked feet thumping lightly against the linoleum flooring, and it makes your heart skip a beat at the fact that this man would follow you to the ends of the earth.

Upon entering the bedroom, you wait for him to enter behind you and then close the door. He watches you bounce towards your walk-in wardrobe and walk out again seconds later with a bright pink box in your hands and an evil grin on your features. He can feel his pulse quicken as you set the box on the bed and turn to face him.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

Your sudden dominant aura has him choking and spluttering out, only receiving an eyebrow raise from you. He suddenly feels small as he removes his shirt, your eyes burning into him and drinking in every inch of exposed skin. Now he knows how you feel when he gives you the exact instructions.

Seungcheol quickly removes his sweats and boxers, leaving him bare in front of you with a half-erect cock. He can feel his face begin to burn and he has the sudden urge to cover himself up, but he knows you’ll just scold him. You continue to stare at him until he remembers what you said and he crawls onto the bed, sitting directly in the middle and waiting for your next instruction.

You stare at him with a grin on your features, and you can see his cock twitch in anticipation. After a quick glance into the box and rummaging through the various items in it, you finally pull out what you were looking for, and simultaneously make Seungcheol gasp at the sight of it.

“You know what this is, don’t you, baby?”

He nods meekly and spreads his legs out so that you can get between them to attach the object. The black rubber fits snugly over his now fully erect shaft and settles nicely at the base, a small whimper escaping Seungcheol’s lips at the tightness of the cock ring encapsulating his cock.

You hadn’t even turned it on yet and you could see Seungcheol’s cock beginning to leak precum, and his breaths have grown slightly shallower. He’s getting so worked up already and you haven't even started. Cute.

“Baby, tell me what you would like me to do.”

He glances up at you, doe eyes and pouty lips more present than ever. You can see how flushed his cheeks are, how his curly hair is beginning to stick to his forehead in strands, and how his beautiful skin looks like it glows under the light of the lamp. Your eyes travel further down and observe his toned body looking like it had been carved by gods. By now his cock is angry and red, the tip leaking precum. 

“I-I wanna feel good…”

“I know that sweetheart, but what do you want me to do to make you feel good?”

Seungcheol can’t even maintain eye contact with you, his eyes avoiding yours at all costs and instead choosing to remain trained on the pink box with mysterious items inside. Who knows what was in there, he hadn’t even really seen it before, and he wondered how long you’d actually had it for.

“Baby?”

“Oh…sorry…I-I wanna be overstimulated… don’t want to remember my horrible work day…” his voice goes soft as he finishes his sentence, his fingers intertwining with themselves to keep himself occupied. All you can do is smile softly and pull a couple more items out of the box and place them on your vanity out of harm's way.

“I’ll make sure the only thing you remember is my name, sweetheart.”

He gulps at the sentence and feels his cock twitch once again at the pet name. He isn’t normally one for pet names, but with the state he was in it didn’t even register in his mind. His mind had basically turned to static, but even more so when you quickly flick the switch on a small remote, bringing the cock ring to life.

At first, the vibrations are low and only small pulses, not quite enough to cum but definitely enough to get him riled up. You can see the way his stomach tenses and his lips drop into an ‘O’ shape as the pulses begin to course through his shaft, and slowly the sensations spread to his entire body.

“Feel good baby?”

“...mhm…y-yeah feels s’good…” his soft whimpers had your own arousal flooding your underwear and you feel your body warming up while you see him squirming. You knew he could handle more vibrations, and with a smirk you change the dial on the remote again, bumping it up to the third highest setting.

“O-oh fuck!” Seungcheol’s body crumples at the intensity of the vibrations, and his body falls flat against the mattress, hands fisting the sheets and his legs spreading widely. You know he won’t last very long, so you decide to bump up the settings once more to the highest vibrational setting.

At this point, you can hear him gasping and hiccuping. Tears are beginning to stream down his face from the sheer amount of pleasure his body is facing. The lower half of his body is struggling, his hips bucking up and thrusting into nothing and his fingers just about ripping the sheets.

With the way his body is twitching and his abs are contracting, you know he’s close to his orgasm but you also know he will try to stave it off for as long as possible. His cock is leaking precum in a continual stream, and you know of one thing that will make him cum immediately.

“Cheollie, are you gonna cum for me?” Your voice has dropped an octave and he peeks at you through his tear-covered lashes, thrusting up into the air once, twice more before he’s letting out a loud sob and cum is shooting from his tip. You watch in awe as the cock ring milks him for everything he’s got, his cum coating his stomach and thighs while your name rolls off his tongue like a mantra.

You bring the vibrations down to the lowest setting for a while, letting him recover in his post-orgasmic haze. A grin covers your lips when you see him twitch and his death grip on your sheets loosens slightly. 

“God…felt so, so good,”

You grin and lean over to peck his nose, and teasingly run your hand over his stomach. He watches you eagerly as you scoop up some of his cum off his skin and swipe it onto your tongue, swallowing the salty substance eagerly. Although it was such a small and simple gesture, he can’t help but feel his cock twitch and begin to grow hard again.

“Glad you felt good baby, say, how do you feel about another round?”

He glances at you curiously, eyebrow raised underneath his sweaty bangs. You chuckle and move to your vanity, pulling up the items you had pulled out of the box before. Seungcheol’s eyes grow wide at the sight of the handcuffs, nipple clamps, and a ball gag. The gears are turning in his head again, you can tell, and you’re not quite sure how he feels about the toys.

“I don't want to use the ball gag.”

“Okay, well don’t be a brat then and we won’t need to use it.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen again when you place the ball gag to the side and immediately lock his wrists into the handcuffs, making sure they are placed around one of the poles on your headboard for security. You also take care to place a pillow underneath his arms to make sure he’s comfortable.

You take one look at him and feel your body grow hot again; he has dried tear tracks on his face, cum drying on his thighs and stomach and his cock is angry and red once again from your dominant actions. Everything in his body is going into overdrive, and it doesn’t help when you begin to strip off your own clothing, taking your sweet time doing so.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing your body, fuck you look so good.” Seungcheol groans when you have stripped bare and are standing naked in front of him, your body in its full glory and all for him to enjoy. The only thing he doesn’t like at this exact moment is that he can’t feel your supple flesh under his fingertips, mapping out your skin with his fingers.

You smirk and get yourself settled between his thighs, turning the cock ring back on when you get comfortable. He whimpers at the feeling, the overstimulation seeping into his system once again but not complaining, especially when you shuffle over his thighs and move your body over his own, hovering over his cock.

His heart rate quickens when he feels the warmth of your body, and he just knows that you’re going to milk him for everything he’s got, especially with the smirk that’s plastered on your features as you bump up the vibrations on the cock ring one notch and repeat what you had told him earlier.

“I’m going to make sure you only remember my name, sweetheart.”

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[keylimeyunho]

hard to ignore: part 3

part 3: "rehearsal"

pairing: reader x fuckboyidol!san genre: smut, fluff word count: 6.3k warning(s): rough making out, dom!san, hate sex, name calling, manhandling, fingering, alludes to sex, talks of virginity

you will admit, the way you acted yesterday was definitely out of hand. but today was a new day.

everything that happened yesterday, you were just going to forget about. forget about your embarrassing decision to stand in front of choi san's infuriating face and tell him off for being the dick he was and probably has always been.

it's now day 2 of the 3 seoul shows that are kicking off ateez's first world tour since the pandemic and today, you were getting to work on not only their makeup, but their outfits. you woke up still in disbelief that this was your job.

and nothing else was going to happen today to risk it again. not choi san, not jeong yunho, not eunchae. you were going to mind your business and grace these boys with the best outfits they've ever seen. and that's all you were going to do.

yet still, you were at their trailer door by the time it rang 8 am on your phone. just as he wanted you to be.

you scratched your arm and straightened yourself, waiting for one of the members to open their door. you could see your hot breath coming out of your mouth into the morning chill. you were somehow more nervous on day 2 than you were on the first day- but you're pretty sure you knew why.

the door opens and the sound echoes through the trailer lot, as you were the only ones up at this hour. yunho stood at the door with a warm smile, letting all the cold over your arms and in your body melt away. however, the smile quickly changed to a gaping mouth in shock.

"oh my god, did we leave you out here too long?" he reaches his arm out and grabbed the makeup bag out of your shaking hands and gently pulled you inside their heated trailer. "i'm sorry..usually hongjoong is awake but i think after the adrenaline of last night, we all crashed." he scratches his neck and looks down at his feet.

you walk into their trailer to find that the director had brought their day 2 outfits already, each carefully zipped in their costume bags, for you to sew to your hearts content and tether perfectly to all eight bodies of ateez. you felt a smile creep across your face.

you turn back to face yunho who was still looking down, ashamed he left their poor stylist outside for too long.

"don't sweat it," you reassure him with your now beaming smile. "right now, i'm itching to see what outfits they're giving us to work with!"

you place your bags down and run over to the bag labeled "SEONGHWA," giving into the temptation and running your hands over the zipper.

you turn back to yunho, whose soft smile had returned to his face and he tilted his head at you with endearment of curiosity. you beamed at him. "can I please open this now? seonghwa always has my favorite look...and I might die if I don't get to see it right now."

the coffee machine behind yunho chimes and he jumps out of the trance your eyes had put him in.

"shit! my coffee!" he scurries over before his coffee spills over the mug. "y/n, of course you can," he reassures you as he lifts the mug carefully over to the fridge for creamer. "you're our stylist. and i think you should get a good look at the outfits before we put them on."

you bite your lip nervously. "alright....fuck it. you're right." you tear into the bag (carefully, of course) and reach your hand in to pull out seonghwa's suit.

you gasp. a red vest with a plunging neckline wrapped in a formidable black coat that was as long as his pants hanging off the hanger. the sides of the jacket turned to the deep blood red of the vest. you could smell the scent of fresh fabric and feel the softness of the fabric between your fingers. a very seonghwa outfit indeed.

"did you see mine?" yunho says behind you. you turn you heard to see him grinning from behind his coffee mug, sipping carefully with one arm leaning on the counter. "i think it's my favorite of all of our outfits this tour. maybe even ever."

you roll your eyes at him. "now that has to be a stretch. your outfit yesterday was amazing." you remember the black velvet and gold trim jacket you saw him in yesterday as he was performing the ring, remembering the way he became a different person, one much different than the sweet, gentle guy you were talking to right now.

yunho takes another sip of his coffee and sighs. "i mean, i loved it, don't get me wrong. but it's just...something about outfits that show off my body shape." he shrugs and puts his coffee cup down. "let me show you."

he walks over to where you are near the couch and takes the bag labeled "YUNHO." he unzips it and carefully takes out the outfit

in the same deep shape of red, yunho's outfit is much different yet just as elegant as seonghwa's. it's half red-half black with a black, floral decal on the right shoulder. no jacket or baggy pants. just a glorious button-down, perfect for a performer like yunho. and definitely better than yesterday's outfit.

your mouth hangs open in shock. "wow, you were right about one thing. it's definitely much more form-fitting."

you reach your hand out to take the bag from him and your fingers brush for a second. yunho probably doesn't notice, but you do. you try to ignore the fact his fingers were soft, maybe freshly moisturized. he smelled good, too. you wonder how long he's been-

"the rest of them will be ready soon, they're all awake- i'm just the only one who remembered you were coming, i guess." he beamed at you and offers a hand to pull you up. "and since i'm all ready to be prepped, i'll take one for the team and go first." he winks at you and puts his hand to his heart, in honor. "i'll sacrifice my sleep to give the guys some time to recoup and actually eat something."

you smile softly at him. today was already looking better than yesterday.

-

once all the boys finished getting ready, you were able to start rotations for fitting them for their outfits. they were generally well-fitted on them, but you did some last-minute tailoring.

you could tell the boys were probably not completely comfortable with their outfits. wooyoung kept pulling at the shirt under his red blazer and seonghwa clearly wasn't comfortable with the length of his coat. so you opted for wooyoung to just remove the button down completely.

wooyoung checked himself out in the mirror and got shy when he saw the way his chest was more exposed with the shirt removed. you hid your smile; you could not deny seeing the evident mercedez benz logo on his chest more clearly this way.

he turned back to you with his hands together, thanking you. "this is much better. lord knows what i would've done if i had to dance in that shirt."

and for seonghwa, you squatted below him, taking scissors and trimming the fabric to a little below his knees, giving him enough leg room that would make it easier to perform the first set of songs. you hadn't realized that performing answer in such a long coat would probably be easier said than done.

but you could tell seonghwa felt infinitely more confident in a shorter coat than a longer one. he spun around in the mirror like a little girl playing dress up for the first time, his eyes glowing and a smile lighting up.

seeing the members feel good in their outfits made you finally feel useful today; not like a klutz. or someone getting in their way.

you better stay away from me if you know what's good for you-

"y/n, this is just- wow."

seonghwa's voice shakes you from that memory, one that felt so vivid but so distant. but you smile at him, forgetting all about it.

"you look stunning. regal, even." you put your hands on his coat again, unbuttoning the coat and revealing more of his neckline and deep red vest. you looked up seonghwa, who was looking down at you, with that intimidating glare and sharp cheekbones.

but his gaze transformed into a big smile with his eyes squeezed shut the way it always does. "only the second day and you already are proving to be our best stylist yet."

you roll your eyes at his comment. "oh please, you're just saying that." you nod to his coat, "it was a simple cut and sew, easy. it wasn't that special.”

seonghwa punches your shoulder playfully. "hey, don't put yourself down like that. we all are thankful you came to kq."

you scratch your arm awkwardly, looking away from seonghwa's genuine, caring expression. you knew he meant well, but you have trouble believing everyone at kq wanted you here. especially after-

"hey, don't let whatever happened between you and san get to you. please." seonghwa looks at you with sympathy and pleading. you can tell he means what he's saying.

"man's an ass. we all know it. i don't even need to know what he said to know that he's already getting to your head." he turns back to the mirror to straighten his coat. "you just gotta put him in his place and he'll get off you. only time he ever gets his way is when you let him walk over you."

you look at seonghwa's face in the mirror and he raises an eyebrow at you. "so don't let him. just tell him to fuck off."

that was the first time you had a genuine laugh for the first two days.

now that was funny. telling your superior to go f himself. yeah, that would end up better than yesterday.

you in san's face backstage. san staring daggers into your eyes. san barging into your trailer. you can't stand the way he's starting to consume your mind.

you stop laughing to look at seonghwa. "yeah, like that'll end well." you scoff.

but seonghwa's face remains indifferent. suddenly, he turns around and heads towards the door. "thank you for everything, y/n. and im serious. someone should really just tell him that one day." he shoots you one last stern look, almost like something of an older brother, who cares about you. "and its certainly not gonna be me." he walks out.

you look at the clock. it's currently 9:06 AM.

be ready by 8 am. you shake the thought of your head, shaking the sound of his degrading, scratching voice out of your head.

while waiting for him, you head over to the bag labeled "SAN" to get his suit ready.

just by taking the jacket out by the hanger, you can already tell this was definitely choi san's. the shoulders of his jacket made the plastic hanger look like it was a child's one. the difference between the broad shoulders and tiny waistline was evident. and not to mention the deep neckline on the jacket, similar to mingi's and seonghwa's. but if you can remember choi san's build, when you looked up at him towering over you last night, you wouldn’t be surprised if more than just his neck would be visible when he put this on.

"personally, i think it's not enough. how am i supposed to dance in that thing?"

you whip around to see him leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed. he was wearing the same frown he had when he was at your trailer door.

you put the jacket down, turning back around and refusing to make eye contact with him. "do you even know how to knock? stop sneaking up on me."

he walks over to you and the jacket. he takes it from you, feeling the frabic under his fingers. "no, i don't think i will. i think it's payback for the way you spoke to me yesterday."

you grip on the chair next you so he can't see the anger fuming in you again. can he just shut up and be normal like the rest of the members?

you force a smile and you walk away from him, trying to keep a healthy distance between the two of you. “can you please just put this on so we can get this over with it?"

he clutches it to his chest and tilts his head, pouting. "i just walked in here, goddamn. you want me gone already?" he clicks his tongue.

you move back to the table to grab your measuring tape. you weren’t putting him. "i would prefer to speak to you as little as possible." you turn back to him. "since you said you never want to see me-"

you stop in your tracks when you come face to face with back muscles. san's back. you're staring right into his bare skin as he had already started to take his clothes off to try on the jacket.

he turns around holding the shirt he was wearing ten second ago and you come face to face with his bare chest now. you felt a little overhwelmed. he wasn't even in makeup or any clothes. just his plaid pants and no shirt. you could see the hint of the temporary tattoo of an 'A' peaking out of his pants on his lower abdomen. he was toned. really toned. there were ridges over his chest and you could clearly see the shape of muscle in his upper chest. his nipples were hard. maybe he was cold. or maybe he-

"don't stop on my accord. what were you saying? since i said what?" he threw his shirt on the ground and started taking off his pants.

you shielded your eyes. "you don't need to get undressed here, san." you point to the closet, still putting your head in your elbow. "the members just got changed in there.

san just rolls his eyes as he takes his pants off. "c'mon. you're telling me you've never seen a guy's body before? i don't mind" he put his hand over his heart. "honest to god. and besides. you should get a good look at me before. you know, to make sure this jacket will fit." he shakes it in front of your face.

you look at him now over your fingers, shielding your eyes from below his abdomen. the way your body reacted to just seeing his chest, there's no telling what you would do if you saw anything below his waist.

"i think i'm good for now, just...." you stare at the way his back muscles tighten as he lifts his arms up to get the jacket over his head. the ends of his black hair brushing his shoulders and his biceps flexing. he turns back around at you once the jacket is through both of his arms and he starts pulling the buttons through the loops. but you can tell he's clearly struggling. probably just to get you to help him.

"it won't- go in," he grunts, trying to pull the little button through. you roll your eyes at his feigned anger. you groan under your breath and grab his jacket, realigning it and slipping each button into the holes. he was like a helpless child that wanted your attention.

you try your hardest to not look straight ahead at the grooves of muscle on his chest and the shadow of his pecks near the opening of the jacket.

god, it was not this difficult with any of the members. they were so easy to work with and did not make your job more difficult, more distracting. something about san just made you so infuriated, so tense. but you could also feel something pooling your stomach when you looked at the way the jacket hugged his waist.

"there," you assert, stepping back to admire how he fits the jacket. and so you can get away from his intoxicating presence.

san does a 360 in the mirror, flexing his arms and moving around in different directions to test the movement within the jacket. it fit very well. but you could tell by the concerned look on his face, it wasn't quite right.

"there's too much.." he starts, pulling at the neck and trying to make more space in the jacket. "i need more freedom to move, this thing just has too much...everywhere. and it's tight."

looking from behind, you can tell san's jacket was about to bust open. his back and shoulders were so big it made it hard to find a suit jacket that could fit a body like his. clearly, whoever made this still could not do him justice.

however, you remembered one of san's stage outfits having a slit between his shoulder blades to give him more leg (or shoulder) room. while san continues to pull at his shirt, you grab the scissors.

"hold still," you tell him and grab onto his shoulders from the back to keep him from moving. taking the black fabric on his back and pinching it, you cut about a half foot size slit right in between his shoulder blades.

when you finished, you struggled to want to let go of his shoulder's. you felt a sort of security feeling shorter than san and you kind of enjoyed holding on to the muscles under his jacket.

but he did the work for you, stepping out from your hands and looking at himself in the mirror again. this time he was able to move his arms and back muscles much more comfortably. he gave you a big grin from the mirror.

"much better. just a small tweak, but i feel better about this already." he turned to you. "is there anything else you need then? because i feel pretty good as of now."

he looked down at you with his brown eyes. compared to last night, the stone face he wore as his lips twitched at you, san looked almost...cute. or something like that. you almost felt glad you could make him this happy.

“that’s something he’s never wanted.”

yunho's voice reminds you; now, san's pout looks more like a manipulation tactic.

you point the scissors in san's face, "my only request, choi san, is to let me know how that jacket holds up. and don't wear it to rehearsal. i don't want to run the risk of you ruining it before show."

"damn, okay." he holds his hands up like you just pointed a loaded gun and not fabric scissors. "but put those things down. im not gonna hurt you, baby."

you roll your eyes and slam the scissors on the table. "see? this is what i'm talking about. stop calling me...names. or anything other than y/n."

he rolls his eyes with a shit-eating grin, "i'm just trying to be nice for once."

your gaze is locked into that shit grin you want to wipe off his face. it's a shame he was such an ass because he looked really fucking good at this moment.

your grip tightened and curled on the scissors on the table. "after last night, i have trouble believing you even know what that word means."

san crosses his arms, his neckline opening and showing more of his chest. you keep eye contact with him.

"last night? you mean when i came close to touching your-"

"hello?" a voice at the door. yunho's.

god bless for all the interruptions today.

you shoot san one more stern look and he's silently laughing to himself, ignoring you.

"i think that means its my time to go." he put's two fingers to his brow and then points to you. "see ya, baby"

he opens the door to see yunho straightening his shirt. he freezes when he realizes it's san at the door.

san pats his shoulder. "keep her warm for me." and he walks out.

-

it was finally time for the boys rehearsal and you decided to watch today. scared of seeing san yesterday, you decided to not let him get to you again today.

you sat behind the stage mix, right across from the extended stage. you had a perfect view of everything and it almost felt like you were getting a private concert.

you crossed your legs and laid back in your arena chair. it reminded you of the feeling of being a k-pop fan before this, before you were offered this job. screaming in these seats at the men on stage flashing their smiles and dancing, losing your voice to your own screams, your heart beating out of your chest from the adrenaline.

but now you're sitting in this arena as someone who knows these boys like colleagues. even might have a toxic flirtationship with one...

"cmon, no one will care," yunho had said to you as you checked the fit of his button-down a couple hours prior. "you deserve a vip view of an ateez concert- one without any of the fans competing for our attention."

you rolled your eyes and shrugged your shoulders. "i know someone who might care if i'm there."

yunho grabbed both your shoulders and bent down to match your eye level. "y/n, please don't tell me you're letting him get to you again. just ignore him. he's an ass."

you look into yunho's big brown eyes. yunho was so thoughtful and caring and you had only just met these boys. how could he be so sweet, touching your shoulder and looking into your eyes? but his bandmate didn't even know how to hold a conversation that didn't poke at the insufferable sexual tension hanging between the two of you whenever you had to be alone with san.

you pouted, slightly. "i'm trying, but he just finds new ways to get under my skin and be a piece of shit when he talks to me."

a really fucking hot piece of shit. but you digress.

yunho grips your shoulder harder. "you're going to come down to our rehearsal and have some fun. you deserve it."

suddenly, the lights turned off. the beginning chimes of hala hala could be heard throughout the arena. it finally hits you you're getting a front-row view of one of ateez's most powerful songs since debut.

you stuck your head a little higher up to get a better look over the stage mix. you could see eight silhouettes walking out from the main stage and you tried to make out the shape of each one.

from the left, seonghwa had on a white shirt and black pants barely covering his ankles, already donning the pointy dress shoes he was probably going to wear during tonight's show.

yeosang had on a grey compression shirt that really hugged everything in. and matched it with his black dress pants.

hongjoong donned a bare face with black baggy basketball shorts and high top jordans with brown socks. his hair could be seen peeking out from his hoodie.

yunho had on a baggy black t shirt, but wore light grey joggers. when he saw you in the crowd, his eyes lit up, breaking the trance hala hala had placed him under in order to wave an awkward hi to you. you grinned and waved your fingers back.

jongho had on a dark blue flannel and black joggers and running sneakers, holding his deep purple microphone in his left hand.

mingi had on his off white beanie, almost covering his eyes and all his hair, also donning a hoodie with a beige flannel over it. very boyfriend-esque; a striking juxtaposition to his onstage persona that he would release tonight.

wooyoung's hair was wet from a shower and slicked back by the water, therefore he was wearing his black windbreaker that reached almost to his knees with grey sweatpants.

and then at the end, you could see san wearing-

you froze.

san was not wearing his normal dancewear. anything could be better than this. even seeing him totally shirtless again from a couple feet away.

anything was better than the fact he was wearing exactly what you told him not to.

he walked out in his black and red jacket you just cut for him, the one you specifically told him to avoid wearing before the show.

but since when did choi san ever listen to something you asked of him?

you're jaw locked and you squinted your eyes at him. his gaze went from hala hala intimidating to another shit-eating grin and a silent laugh, right in your face.

oh, you were going to fucking kill him.

the members started dancing together in unison as the pre-chorus hit. but you only watched him carefully.

as it built to the chorus, san's part came up where he pumped his fist down to make the members shake behind him.

he looked directly at you as he pumped his arms down on each beat, tongue peaking out his lips and his eyebrows raising. you kept looking at him. don't fucking try anything.

unfortunately, the song continues with san performing like he's never wanted to impress someone more. he flung his body on the stage floor and kicked high enough his pants almost ripped. you just crossed your fingers he didn't mess up the jacket you fixed for him before the show even started.

if the jacket ripped during the show, it wouldn't matter as much. the fans might even swoon at the thought of seeing san's jacket rip from the sheer width of his shoulders.

but as his stylist, you didn't want san to get on that platform during their first song with a ruined outfit.

but san couldn't give less of a fuck about that. as long as he was getting under your skin, that's all that mattered to him.

finally, as the bridge built to its climax, you watched san growl something inhumane before the dance break.

outside of the seething anger you felt towards san, you couldn't deny the presence that oozed off of him while he was on stage. even in an empty arena, he was performing his hardest and pushing himself to an extent that the average human body couldn't reach. and no matter how much you wanted to ignore him, no matter how much you wanted him to get off stage, your eyes couldn't help but be entranced by his face the whole song.

finally, the music cuts and you look at the members lying on the ground, huffing thick air into their mics and holding their hands on their chests to catch their breath.

on the front stage, you see san laying on his back his arm over his head, nipples peaking out from under the jacket he so carelessly wore.

crossing your finger, he finally uses his arms as leverage to stand up. he sits up and turns his back to you, revealing what was left of the slit you gave him.

to your dismay, the slit of fabric no longer existed, but the entire jacket was split down the center.

the fabric was curling down out of the jacket, the skin on his back on display for you to stare at as you could even see the sweat dripping down, down, down-

"san!" you stood up. you stared him down from where you were sitting fifty feet away from the stage.

san turned to face you, his hair dripping sweat and covering his eyes. he blew a bang out of his face and blew you a kiss

-

"you're so fucking dense," you growl under your breath as san closes the door to the dressing room, his jacket in two pieces and sweat soaking his body.

"you're just so fucking arrogant, idiotic, stupid, so-"

"i get it!" he yells back, running his fingers through his hair. "can you shut up? oh my god. you really are annoying, sometimes, do you know that?"

not this again. you rolled your eyes at his comment. "i swear to god, san. if you don't stop berating me for every little thing i say-"

"maybe you should unclench a little, y/n. it's just a jacket, jesus christ." he scoffs.

you clench your first. you've just about had it with him.

"maybe you don't care because either way you're getting paid after this, but it's my job to take care of your clothes." you cross your arms at him. "and i gave you a specific order not to wear that before the show. was it really that hard to follow?”

san sits back in the dressing room chair, putting his hands behind his head, now unfazed as ever. he laughs.

"yeah, i heard. but i didn't care." he sighs and a smile grows over his face.

you scream from inside your throat. you wanted nothing more than to punch that grin right off his face and show him how you really feel.

"well, now your concert jacket is destroyed because you wanted to make an absolute fool of yourself as a sick way to," you take a deep breath to control your anger. "i don't know- get back at me for telling you off yesterday?"

he leans back in the chair, biceps showing through the tight jacket an he tilts his head back to show the way his adams apple bobs out of his throat. a deep chuckle leaves his mout.

"yeah you could say that." he sits back up and this time, he spreads his legs open, leaning forward and putting his head into his right hand. "but i also wanted to see your reaction to seeing me like that on stage."

you crossed your arms. "like what?"

he stands up and walks over to you. slowly, he turns around to show you a xclose up his jacket.

the rip was infinitely bigger in person, but damn you could see every muscle in his back. sweat from rehearsal was still dripping down his back. he smelled sweaty but with a hint of a sharp, clean cologne that made you want to grab him and bury your nose right into his skin.

you pretended you didn't like seeing his back like that. "what am i supposed to be looking at?" you poke.

he turns back around and faces you, his grin making an appearance in front of you again. his hand reaches to your hair and brushes it out of your face.

"i need you to stop pretending you don't feel what i'm feeling right now."

your mouth gapes open. you couldn't believe he was saying this right now, in a situation so serious. however, something about the way his fingers felt brushing your forehead, you can't deny, that familiar heat was pooling in your stomach. part of you wanted to vomit, but also have san touch your skin one more time to bring it back.

you set your jaw. "i dont know what you're talking about. you really need to learn when to shut up and listen-"

"ohmygod, y/n." he grabs your chin this time and tilts it up, looking down at you. "i saw the way you were eye fucking me on stage earlier. cut the bullshit."

you slit your eyes and push him off you and he stumbles back, slightly in shock you actually fought back.

you stand still. staring at him, covered in sweat, hair over his eyes, plunging neckline putting his nipples back on display. it was really hard to want to punch him across the face when he looked like that, when he smelled like that, when he talked like that.

you stare at each other for a little longer. finally, san walks closer once more. this time he puts his hand on the wall over your head, looking down at you.

you stare daggers into his forehead. he just smirks and cracks his neck.

"no snappy response this time, huh?"

you stare back up at him.

"fuck you, choi san."

he grins, his eyes closing and he breathes in through his teeth sharply. he reopens them.

"fuck you, too."

his lips were on yours before you could even register that he pushed you against the wall with that much force.

the kiss was sloppy, desperate. you weren't even sure if there were any feelings in it. but you both knew it stemmed from the unbearable sexual attraction you felt to one another in this moment.

his hands traveled from the wall to your waist, squeezing them and twirling his fingers in the ends of your shirt. your hand curled under his arm and you squeezed the skin on his back to hold on as he kept his lips glued to yours, not even separating them to breathe.

you didn't know what you were doing. but you didn't care

"fuck, baby," he finally breathes into your mouths, "you're so-"

"just shut the fuck up and kiss me," you breathe back, putting your lips back on his and wrapping your arms around his neck.

he takes his hands off your waist and puts his hand under your thighs. he lifts you up, your ankles locking around his waist in return. your lips never separate from his as his mouth opens to accept your tongue in return.

he puts you on the dressing table, pulling at the waistband of your jeans.

his fingers brush your lower abdomen, just below your bellybutton and you clench at the feeling of someone being so close to you, so close to your core.

you smile into his lips and laugh a little. "san, i swear to god,"

"what?" he says, smiling back and dipping his hands past the waistband this time. "i'm not doing anything."

"i don't want you anywhere near my-" you cut yourself with a breathy moan out of your lips.

"hm? what were you saying?" his hands were now past the band of your underwear, cupping the shape of your heat and pressing slowly. "you don't me anywhere near your...."

another moan, louder this time, escapes you. you tilt your head back. "san, just shut the fuck up please. i don't wanna hear your voice."

san dips one finger little farther than the others as he leans into your ear. "yeah, but baby, i wanna hear yours."

you bite your lip and hold back a third moan, not trying to stroke san's ego already more than it has, considering he got his hands far as they've gone. but the feeling of his finger dipping inside you like that made it hard to keep your morals.

"san, san, san, please, i-" you stutter. he looks back down at you now. he removes his other hand from your waist to fist your hair, tilting your head back so all he could see was your bare neck.

"use your words, princess. or i'm gonna make it harder this time." you felt a second finger make it's way to your entrance.

san breathes into your neck and starts leaving open-mouth kisses all over your collarbone, his grip on your hair still strong as ever.

"san, please, i need- fuck!" you stutter again, this time with a whince of pain from your hair pulling out of your head by his grip on it.

"can't believe i got you to fall apart like this so fast. maybe i should just fuck you right here for being such a whore." he kisses your neck once more. " i didn't know you had this in you, but fuck. i'm not complaining."

your legs were still wrapped around his waist so you started to feel a bulge pushing through his pants. but you could not say anything with the way your nipples were piercing through your white t-shirt.

"is that what you are?" san puts his lips to your ear. "a whore? hm? letting a man you just met touch you like-" he inserts his second finger to meet the other one. "-this."

you shut your eyes tight, breathing heavily, trying to hold back your moans once again. you didn't want san to stop, butt he thought of admitting it to him made you want to vomit.

you breathed out once more and looked into his eyes.

"n-no." you choked out.

san raises an eyebrow. "hm? oh really?" his fingers start pumping faster.

you nod fast, biting your lip. don't stop, please don't stop.

"so you're a fucking virgin, huh?" he says, louder this time. his hand releases on your hair and throws your head forward.

"makes sense," he says, his fingers still pumping at the same, delicious speed. "i've never felt a pussy this tight, fuck. i bet i'm the first one to be this far inside you"

you suck in another breath. "san, oh my god, please, stop talking."

his knuckles curl in you the moment you let that out your mouth. god fuck, how did he get so deep that fast?

san laughs in your ear again "i think i should just stick my cock in this pussy already, that'd stretch you out faster, hm?"

you can feel a third finger making its way. you're not sure if you're ready to cross that bridge.

san inches the tip of his third finger to your clit "just admit you want my cock right here-"

"y/n? are you in there?"

the voice outside shakes you both and you jump right off the table. san pulls his fingers out of you and tucks them behind his back.

"hello?" yunho.

you look at yourselves in the mirror. your nipples were hard and visible through your shirt.

san's jacket was wrinkled and his cock was hard in his pants.

you put your hoodie on to cover your nipples and the wet stain in your jeans. san sits on the chair to cover himself.

"coming!" you say to yunho outside.

you turn to look at san one more time before opening the door. but instead of wearing the same mortified face you couldn't get off your face from the last ten minutes, san wore the biggest smile you ever saw, looking more content than ever.

part 4: fri july 29th

series masterlist | previous chapter

tags: @mulletjoonsupremacy @sakura777chan @lemonhongjoong @moonsangie @kitten4sannie @sanasstrawberry @baguette-atiny @ka-ni-ma @wooyoungsbestie @choisansnotsolegalwife @s10an @atinytinaa @nonclassyparty @kwanisms @timeofwave @sangiluvem @sanstreasure0305 @starcrossedsan @kha0sblossom @diorwoo

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Title: cruel summer | chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Pairing: No outbreak!Joel Miller/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Chapters: 6/6

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Join a tag list

Summary: Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise.

He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

Author’s Note: This is the end! Thank you all so much for enjoying this little fic that I have loved writing. Requests are open if you have anything you wanna see in the future 🥰

Additional Tags/Warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age gap (23F and 38M), mild/moderate angst (resolved!), alcohol consumption, discussions of family dynamics, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), slight fem dom?, dirty talk, pet names. Let me know if any are missing!

You don’t hear from Joel the next two days, save for the text he’d sent the night he dropped you off at your apartment with a broken heart. He said he’d fix this and god, you want to believe him. But silence doesn’t feel promising.

Your dad has called no less than twenty times since that night. You’ve let them all rot away in your voicemail graveyard. You don’t have the motivation to do much besides sit on the couch for your daytime crying and move back to your bed for your nighttime crying before exhaustion finally wins and you fall asleep.

There’s a knock at your door on the third day, but you don’t make any move to answer it. You hear the key turn in the lock and your mom enters the apartment.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says gently, setting down an armful of groceries in the kitchen before sitting beside you on the couch, smoothing your unwashed hair from your face with a gentle hand. “I’d ask how you’re doing, but I think I know the answer.”

Tears prick at your eyes. “It hurts, mama.”

“I know, baby,” she murmurs. She pulls your head to her chest. “Have you heard from Joel? Or your daddy?”

“No, I haven’t heard anything from Joel. Dad’s called a bunch, but I…I don’t wanna talk to him, mama. He was so mean.”

“You gotta think about where he’s coming from. You’re his only baby, his little girl. He’s having a hard time separating the baby he used to rock to sleep from the woman who can make her own choices. And he reacted with the heart of a dad, not the brain of a logical man.”

You sniff. “That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know. You don’t have to forgive him. I’m spittin’ mad at the man myself. But I just wanted you to know.” She presses a kiss to your head. “Now, help me put those groceries away. I have somewhere I gotta be in an hour.”

________

Joel nervously scrapes at the paper label on his beer bottle as he waits for his lunch guest to arrive. He’s been a wreck the past couple of days, trying to keep it together in front of Sarah while his mind wanders to you, your last words to him ringing in his ears.

I love you, Joel Miller. I hope you find it in you to not be a coward and love me back.

That’s exactly what he intends to do. He just needs someone on his side.

Which is why he texted your mom a few nights ago, asking if he could talk to her.

The woman in question approaches the table and Joel stands to greet her, holding an arm out for a handshake. She only rolls her eyes, pulling him into a hug that surprises him. When she seats herself, the waiter swings by and takes her order for a glass of Chardonnay before leaving the two of them to stare at each other.

“So. Joel Miller. You love my daughter, huh?” She asks. He swallows nervously.

“Yes, m’am.”

“And my husband was an asshole to you about it?”

He considers his response. “It..uh..could have gone better.”

She nods. The waiter drops off her wine glass and she takes a dainty sip. “Well. Tell me the whole story.”

So he does. He leaves out the more salacious bits, because your mom doesn’t need to know about what happened in her kitchen, instead focusing on how you drew him in with your sweet disposition and he was helpless to avoid falling in love with you. He tells her about bringing Sarah over and how you played with his little girl like she was the only thing that mattered in that moment. He talks about the trip to the aquarium. He mentions his stupid attempt at pushing you away.

“And I can’t do that again, m’am. I don’t want to. I told your husband that she’s the best thing that’s happened to me since Sarah was born, and I meant every word.”

The whole time, she stays quiet, sipping her wine. Occasionally, a small smile will pass across her lips.

“You know, my own daddy didn’t like my husband when he first met him. Thought he was a no good troublemaker. I think my husband forgets that he’s just as in love with someone’s daughter as you are with mine. And one day someone will love your little girl, and you’ll think they’re not good enough for her, too. It’s the curse of being a father.”

Joel nods, unsure of what to say. Your mom finishes her glass of wine before continuing.

“I think you should join us for dinner tonight, Joel. And I promise to change the gun safe code before you get there.”

________

Joel shows up at your parents house with a bottle of wine and enough nervous energy to power a small city. He feels like he might throw up as he waits for someone to answer the door.

Thankfully, it’s your mom. He hands over the bottle of Chardonnay he brought and she gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“Chin up. You got this,” she says, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him to the living room.

Your dad is sitting on the couch, a glass of whiskey in hand as he staunchly refuses to meet Joel’s eyes. He takes a seat in one of the accent chairs.

“My wife says I owe you an apology,” your dad says. “And that I need to get my head out of my ass before I lose it up there for good.”

Joel has to fight back his laugh, biting his lip hard.

“I just want my daughter to be happy. And she’s right, she’s an adult now. I forget, sometimes,” he continues. “She used to ask me to check for monsters under her bed and in her closet. Hard to believe that same girl is about to graduate college. Become a doctor. Save the world. All the best things I always wished for her. And I also used to wish she’d find someone to love her. And I can’t begrudge you for being that person. So, I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Your mom shouts from the kitchen. Your dad rolls his eyes.

“For being an asshole. And ruining your date,” he grumbles. He drains the rest of his drink.

“Thank you, sir,” Joel replies. Your mom enters the living room.

“Excellent. Now, come on, Joel. Let’s talk New Year’s Eve plans.”

________

It’s New Year's Eve and your mom showed up at your apartment just after dinner with a garment bag and a stern expression.

“You are coming to the party, young lady,” she insists. “Now get in the shower.”

You do what she asks with heavy limbs. You still haven’t heard from Joel. Your dad’s phone calls have stopped. You’re not exactly looking forward to seeing him tonight.

When you get out of the shower, your mom is wielding your blow dryer like a weapon. You sit at your desk while she styles your hair for you. You do your makeup under her watchful eye, then slip into the shiny silver dress she brought for you.

“Gorgeous. Come on. Let’s go.”

She hustles you into the passenger seat of her car and drives to her house. There’s a whole line of cars parked along the curb, and you groan at the idea of having to mingle with their friends.

“Alright, in you go, chop chop,” your mom says, shooing you from the vehicle. You enter the bustling house, forcing a smile as some of your dad’s business colleagues and your mom’s friends say hello, pulling you into hugs and cheek kisses.

Your mom brings you a glass of champagne, pulling you along at her side as she talks with her guests. When the doorbell rings, your mom politely asks you to answer the door.

When you do, you feel like you’re hallucinating. Standing on the front porch is Joel, dressed in a suit, his wild curly hair slicked back and his face clean shaven.

Christ, the man can wear a suit.

“Hey, baby,” he says.

Seemingly out of nowhere, your dad appears beside you. “Hey, Joel! Come on in, can I get you anything to drink?”

You look between the two men, feeling like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone. Have you missed something?

Your dad shakes Joel’s hand, all smiles, and your questions only multiply. Joel squeezes your hip as he passes by, following your dad to the kitchen for a drink. You trail behind them, confused as hell as you watch them chat like they’re old friends and your dad pours him a glass of whiskey.

“Uh, Joel?” You ask. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he replies. He excused himself with your dad and you lead him upstairs to your childhood bedroom, his palm hot on your lower back.

In your room, you shut the door and take a deep breath. “Joel, what’s happening?”

“I fixed it,” he says, setting his glass down on your old dresser.

“You fixed it,” you repeat incredulously. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, stepping closer and slipping an arm around your waist, “I’m all in. No more runnin’. No more secrets. No more bein’ a coward. It means I’m yours, and you’re mine, and nothin’ is gonna change that.”

You blink at him. “But…my dad—“

“Met with him and your mom. Had some good talks. He just wants you to be happy, baby. He did threaten that he knew a good place to hide a body if I hurt you, though.”

“Why didn’t you call me? Or text me?”

“Because when I came back to you on my knees beggin’ for forgiveness, I wanted to have everythin’ squared away.” He drops down to one knee, then the other, looking up at you with those big brown eyes of his as his hands grip your hips. “So, can you forgive me, baby?”

You smirk. “I could probably be persuaded.”

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, trailing a hand up your calf. “You want me to earn it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, voice already breathy and your core clenching in anticipation. “I think you owe me a real thorough apology, Joel.”

He grins at you as his fingers reach the hem of your dress, urging it up your thighs until it’s bunched around your waist, exposing your panties underneath. He gently pulls them down your legs, eyes glued to your face as he does. He urges you to step out of them once they’re around your ankles.

Tossing them to the side, he lifts one of your legs and situates it on his shoulder, opening you up to his hungry gaze.

“Missed you so much, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh. “Was goin’ crazy without you.”

“Less talking, more apologizing,” you demand, breathing already labored.

He huffs a laugh against your skin before angling his face toward your center, his nose brushing your needy clit as he licks a broad stripe through your folds, his tongue dipping into your entrance. Your head drops back against the door with a groan.

“You gotta be quiet, can’t have all those nice people downstairs knowin’ you’re gettin’ your pussy devoured, huh, baby?”

You bite your lip to hold your noises as he returns to his apology, licking and sucking and biting at you until you’re a writhing mess.

“Joel!” You whisper-shout, tugging on his hair. “Want your cock, baby, please?”

His lips are shiny with your essence as he stands, hands working his belt and fly open in quick succession. He presses a messy kiss to your lips as he frees his cock, an arm wrapping around your waist to lift you up, your legs automatically circling his hips. His hot length slides against your clit and you moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed in his kiss.

He presses you against the wall so that he can use one hand to position his cock at your dripping entrance, pressing his hips forward to drive himself inside you. Your arms cling to his shoulders as you gasp at the stretch.

“Christ, darlin’,” he whispers against your neck. “I’m not gonna last long like this.”

“Don’t care,” you reply, swiveling your hips in an attempt to get him to move. “Come on, baby, you’re not gonna make me cum standing still.”

Joel chuckles darkly, drawing back and slamming harshly up into you, the power of it knocking the breath from your lungs. He pounds into you harshly, his hands sure to leave fingertip shaped bruises on the skin of your hips and ass where he holds you to drag you over his length.

“Touch yourself, pretty girl, I need you to cum with me,” he demands. You slip a hand between your bodies, fingers circling your clit with little finesse as you work in tandem with Joel to reach your release.

It shatters over you in a consuming wave, your legs going tight around his waist as you lean forward to bite your scream into his shoulder. You feel his cock pulse inside of you as he presses in deep, his release warm as it fills you to the brim.

You slump against him, boneless in the aftermath. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder before gently lowering you to the ground, an arm looped around your waist to support you as you try to stand on shaky legs.

He tucks his softening cock away into his boxers, pulling his pants up. He locates your panties on the brown and kneels down to help you step back into them.

“Not gonna steal this pair?” You tease. He nips the inside of your knee in retaliation.

“Only because I’m not about to send you out in your parents house with my cum dripping down your thighs,” he replies, situating the fabric on your hips before pulling your dress back down over your thighs. When he stands, he pulls you into a deep kiss, his palms framing your cheeks. “I love you,” he says as he pulls back.

You grin at him, smoothing your fingers through his mussed hair. “I love you, too.”

________

You rejoin the party, your hand in Joel’s as he leads you to the kitchen for a drink refill. It’s nearing midnight, and your dad has turned on the TV in the living room to the ball drop in anticipation.

The man in question is in the kitchen with your mom, the two of them flushed from their drinks and the heat of the full house. Your dad gives you a tentative smile.

“Hi,” he says as the two of you approach. You release Joel’s hand to pull him into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers.

“I know. Thank you, dad,” you reply. You don’t miss the shine in his eyes when you pull back and kiss him on the cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he tells you.

The noise in the house starts to grow as the ball begins to drop, the countdown echoed in chorus by the party goers. Joel hands you a glass of champagne, pulling you into his side as he starts to join in.

“3…2…1! Happy New Year!!”

Joel tilts your face to his, planting a kiss to your lips, in front of everyone. When you pull away, your mom tugs you into a hug and your dad shakes Joel’s hand, both men smiling.

And you can’t help but think how amazing it is that one summer can change your whole world.

Tag list: @huffle-punk @telepathay @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @caatheeriinee07 @leeeesahhh @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfell @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @lovebandrry @str84pedro @daddy-din @missgurrl @paleidiot @mattmurdock1021

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Bargain 7

Masterlist

Warnings: financial stress and abuse, coercion, noncon, and some possible unmentioned triggers.

Character: Nick Fowler

Summary: You realise you don’t know Nick anymore.

Note: I'm still on a short hiatus for my novel but might drop tiny tidbits here and there between.

As always, I appreciate all kinds of feedback. A like and reblog means so much to me! <3

You pull the straps over your shoulders, the satin sheet cool around your figure. The frigid night ekes in through the window as you move through the dark. Your ears are pricked for the measured breaths keeping tempo. He’s asleep. You’re not free, but you can catch your breath.

You think of closing the window before you go. It nips deep into your flesh but he’ll be fine in the heaps of down and fabric on the bed. You ease open the door and edge down the hallway, careful not to do more than scuff the floor with your bare soles.

You take the stairs one at a time, careful not to creak on your descent. You go into the den, nightie swishing around your legs as your impatience boils over. You unclasp the glass doors framed in walnut and take out the bottle of Shiraz. You take it to the window bench and nestle up to watch the night gales stir the autumn leaves.

You wiggle free the cork, left loose by your last indulgence. You take a swig and sigh at the relief of the bitter flow across your tongue. You used to hate the flavour of wine, now you live for it. Those few minutes a night you can wash away the day.

You’ll have to replace the bottle. Again. Eventually he’ll figure you out. He’ll notice the label or the charge on his statement. You don’t really care, it’s just wine.

The billowing winds offer a soothing backdrop for your inebriation. You finish the bottle to your surprise. You want more. Anger brims in your drunken veins at the realisation that even this stolen delight is bound in his control.

You get up, the room jittering in your vision. Oops. You’re drunker than you thought. You hadn’t eaten enough at dinner. 

You teeter through to the kitchen and fill the bottle with tap water. You go back to the den and find the cork, forcing it back into the neck. You pause and stare at the shape of the bottle in your hand and belch. You’re pathetic.

You close your eyes and pout. How did it end up like this? You’re not supposed to be here. Not with Nick. Not like this. He’s your friend, now your keeper. It’s supposed to be different.

The vision of you walking down the aisle, white petals raining down in what can only be a fantasy, a man in a tux waiting for you at the end. Your eyes wet as you see Curtis watching you with a glimmer. Your heart pulses as you resist the urge to rush into his arms. Then you see Nick, across from him, watching with snakish spite.

The bottle slips from your hand and shatters at your feet. You gasp and look down, shaken from what could have been. What should have been.

You spin and look around at the ghostly darkness swathed over the space. You hate this. You hate it all. Each step you take is off kilter and reckless. You grab the low table before the artificial fire set into the wall and push it on its side with a deafening boom. You clatter the arm chair onto the floor, then that ridiculous chess table her never even touches.

Your rampage cannot be stopped even as you’re aware of the ruin, of what this will get you. You don’t care anymore. No matter what you do, it will always be torture.

You swing open the liquor cabinet and pull down a bottle, dropping it onto the hardwood. It smashes and the contents splash up your skirt and leg. Another and another. The sour scent brews around you with each crash.

Then the light flicks on and gives sight to your destruction. You stop with a bottle of scotch clutched in your fist. You wobble as you turn to face Nick, watching with sleep consternation. He grips the door frame and grits his teeth.

“Sweetheart…” his eyes scan the room with disappointment.

You don’t think, you just hurl the bottle at him. He side steps as it hits the wall just beside him, a shower of glass and scotch smattering down. He stares at the brown stain on the wall then slowly turns to you.

You waver as he stays silent. Marching towards you calmly even as his eyes blaze. You gulp as you look back at him, senseless. He brings his hands up to frame your face.

“Sweetheart,” he bows to look down, “what’ve you done to your feet?”

You let your head drop and look at your feet. Little cuts bleed along the side of your soles and red prints stain the wood beneath. You shrug and let out a sob. You know he’s angry, you just don’t know what he’ll do next.

[wolfscarr]

Helluva Broken Narrative 3. Wasted Romance.

So here I am for a 3rd time on this...I guess Broken Narrative...series? Because honestly this just came to my mind, that's also a big point

^ Links to the other 2 parts that I've written out.

DISCLAIMER: Not saying you can't enjoy the show. Enjoy it all you want, this again is just a rant about a lack of cohesive narrative.

Alright so this may be because of the Season 2 trailer that I'm writing this, but I really just...need to throw this out there because it again, has everything to do with the Narrative that has been told to us thus far for 2 and a half Seasons.

So we as the audience are suppose to believe that Blitz and Stolas are going to end up together, but here's the thing. There's no reason for them Narratively to be together. Putting aside the fact that thanks to Season 2, Blitz and Stolas has ZERO reason to interact at all as I labeled out in my previous posts above.

The two have zero chemistry, they have nothing in common as far as personal hobbies and for all of S1 and it seems in S2, Stolas has treated him like complete shit. From what I've gathered in S2, Stolas is apparently going to throw Blitz out and is pissed at him because.....reasons.

Yet I'm suppose to want these two together because....why? There is no narrative reason for them to be together, people wanna say "you need to wait, you need to wait, you need to wait!"

WAIT FOR WHAT?! It's been 2 and a half Seasons worth of content. What we're suppose to wait all the way to Season 3? If that's the case, then this is laughable and shows how terrible the writing is, it also shows that the two should never be together if we're having to wait this long.

You're suppose to gradually put building blocks if you want a relationship to pan out in a series. The writing for 2 whole Seasons involving Blitz and Stolas, haven't done that and in fact Season 2 made things even worse for Season 1 and from where I'm sitting....it doesn't get any better.

Why should Blitz want to be with Stolas, after the way he's been treated? No one in their right mind would want to be with someone who's talked down to him, who's hung their livelihoods over their heads and who thinks so very little of his own species.

Oh but here's the kicker folks, here's something that will be quite a shocker! As I've explained in my posts above, you can write Stolas completely out of the show now thanks to Season 2, he's a pointless character. But you wanna know who you can't write out of the show? Wanna know who is an important character for Blitz?

VEROSIKA MAYDAY!

Wanna know why? Well first we have to turn back the clock to Season 1. See while Season 2 retroactively and continues to make things worse for the Blitz and Stolas dynamic and Season 1 just in general showed that they need to be so far away from one another, they should be in separate dimensions.

Let's see....we have had basically...what 9 episodes showing Blitz and Stolas' dynamic across 2 whole Seasons and I've gotten nothing other than they are terrible to eachother and have nothing in common/no chemistry.

But within a single Season and within....3 EPISODES! I have more of a Narrative reason to want Blitz and Verosika to reconcile and get back together. But let's explore those 3 episodes, shall we?

S1 EP 3, Spring Broken= Introduced to Verosika, Blitz stated that they had a lengthy relationship/dated for awhile, he took her car and credit cards.

^ This episode gives us an introduction to who they were to one another, showcases that the pair had a genuine relationship and it was Blitz who ended it. It also shows that Verosika has a tattoo of his name on her arm, signifying that he was very important to her.

S1 EP 6, Truth Seekers= In Blitz' hallucination, he comes across Verosika who is crying, crawling towards him, stating that "you just push away anyone who tries to get close to you!"

^ This brief sequence tells us that Verosika really did care/loved him, in that she was just wanting to help him, to understand him, to be there for him.

S1 EP 7, Ozzie's= Verosika again appears, saying that he was selfish in bed and calls him a heartbreaking freak, leaning into him, with Blitz looking guilty. Later on after, Blitz is scrolling through his phone and there's a picture of him and Verosika, clearly in a public area and she wearing a dress with the word NO over the crotch. This implying that she only wanted Blitz and no one else.

^ This sequence shows basically...everything that the prior 2 episodes told us and even moreso, that Verosika truly did love and care for him before he pushed her away. Blitz clearly looking guilty about what he had done to her.

So 3 episodes, 2 of which weren't even a focus on them, gives me much more of a reason to support them because the Narrative....didn't try to hamfist it. It was far more natural in building up than whatever they are trying to do with Blitz and Stolas, which in turn ends up breaking the Narrative entirely and making Stolas a pointless character for the show.

Now I'm sure Season 2 is going to no doubt, turn Verosika on her head as a character...just to support Stolas and to show Blitz that he is the one for him, but sorry...they really can't write their way out of it. Not that the writing has been able to do so anyway.

Yet the funny thing is? Verosika will be far more important to Blitz than Stolas ever will be and why? Because the Narrative tells and shows us this, she is an important part of Blitz' past, not just relationship wise either.

Verosika Mayday connects with Blitz that connects him to every single other part of his past due to his insecurities within himself and how he should be a better person to others. She actually can help him with that, if the writing allowed for it, she could actually help him mend his past relationships, since Verosika not only knows Fizzarolli, but also knows Barbie(due to rehab), though I know Blitz already reconciled with Fizz, I'm just saying this as more of a Narrative hook.

People wanna say this show has such 'complex and deep characters/writing' yet I really have a hard time seeing that, when S1 is basically broken. Oh but they also wanna say that "it's just a cartoon" or "It's not that serious!"

No...no folks, you can't say one thing and then say another that completely contradicts the other thing.

A show is like a house, S1 is the foundation and if that foundation is broken....then the whole show is. Characters and plot points have been made useless thanks to S2.

Yet Verosika, will always be important for Blitz as a character and to see this get wasted? Is a real shame.

The real waste though is that Season 1 had set it up, to where....they could have written it as Blitz and Stolas realizing that they need to confront those that they've hurt. That Blitz needs to confront those and reconcile with those of his past, to become a better person.

On Stolas' end, he has to confront both his wife and daughter before he loses them forever...before he loses his whole family. Something which mind you, is REALLY RELATABLE for many in the world, because many don't want their Families to split up. But of course as I've outlined in posts above, they just completely wasted Stolas' Family.

They had a great S1 story hook for both of them...and they fumbled the ball.

Anyway folks, this is the 3rd and probably last bit of Broken Narrative I make...so enjoy!

[oddinary4bts]

The Forgotten Spaces | ch 14 (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in this chapter)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: things might get emotional in this one, jungkook's photo exposition, oc's mom call once, laura is there but we don't care about that anymore, do we?, curse words, explicit content: mentions of pain kink and choking kink, dom!jk, brat!reader, hair pulling, oral sex (male and female receiving), mouth fucking, fingering, edging, unprotected sex (don't be stupid)

☆word count: 13k

☆series masterpost here

☆a/n: It's the last chapter and I am so so so emotional about it. The Forgotten Spaces was a journey, and I can't believe it's coming to an end. To think I started writing this in January... it's been forever. Thank you for reading me, for sending me all these asks and interacting with me so much over this fic. It means a lot! I hope you'll enjoy this last chapter just as much as you've enjoyed the others <3

☆a/n pt 2:Thank you to @moonleeai for her beta reading on this fic, I won't ever thank you enough, you're the best <3

☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, December 1st

                You’ve been feeling Jungkook’s eyes darting to you almost every minute now, like he’s synchronized with the minute hand of a clock. You’re studying in your apartment, finals inching closer with every passing day. Yesterday evening, you went to buy a real Christmas tree, and the aroma of the branches has been playing with your nose since you sat down at the coffee table to study. Jungkook is sitting at the kitchen counter, and he’s long stopped looking at his laptop in front of him. The screen went black, but he doesn’t seem to care.

You catch his gaze when his eyes dart to you once more, and you cock an eyebrow in question. He chuckles, and his eyes slide to his dark screen.

“What’s up with you?” you ask.

He shrugs, and taps on the touchpad. His screen comes back to life, and he types in his password. “Nothing.”

You squint your eyes, glancing at the book you’ve been highlighting from. You reckon you could use a break, so you put the highlighter down, getting up from your spot to walk to where Jungkook is sitting.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing,” you whisper, and you wrap your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. He’s studying for his anatomy final, and you read along with him as you wait for him to reply.

He shrugs, and his tattooed hand shoots up to hold onto your wrist. He traces figures with his thumb on your skin, and turns his head to look at you.

“What do you want for Christmas?” he asks.

His question takes you by surprise. And you don’t know what you want, you’ve never had a boyfriend to get gifts from and give presents to.

A boyfriend… You haven’t used the label yet. At least not out loud. But you think both of you know without needing to say it.

“Mmh,” you hum. “I don’t know. I didn’t think we were doing presents.”

You can hear the frown in his voice when he speaks. “I want to treat you.”

You laugh, pressing a peck to the side of his neck. “Can I choose an activity instead of a gift? I like spending time with you.”

“You want me to take you out on a date?”

It’s not something you’ve been doing a lot. The honeymoon phase led to you spending more time alone, at your place. Never being able to get enough of the other, passion and desire leading the dance between you two. But you reckon you’d like to go on a date with him, to go to museums and laugh at the art together. To grab dinner with him in a fancy restaurant, and pretend you know anything about wine.

Well, you do, a little. But you’ve never seen Jungkook drinking wine before, which gives you an idea after all.

“What about a wine degustation? I’ve heard there’s a nice little winery just outside of the city.”

“I don’t drive, and I assume you’d want to drink, no?” he points out.

You press another kiss to his neck, and watch the goosebump forming on his skin. “We can go by train.”

He shifts a little, turning to fully look at you. “Alright then. I’ll take you to a nice winery, and I’ll get you some nice wine. That sounds like a good present for a good girl.”

“Kook,” you whine, and you pull away to punch him playfully on the shoulder. “You’re annoying.”

“You love me.”

You glare at him, as he just offers you that lopsided grin that makes you all giddy inside.

“Do I?”

He grabs your face, kisses your forehead and pulls away. “Yes.”

You hum, shrugging. “Maybe.”

He pouts, and you brush it away with your thumb. Your hand lingers on his cheek, and his face falls serious. You lean closer to kiss him softly and he melts under you. He pulls you so you’re in front of him instead of behind, as his lips work against yours.

You’ll never get tired of kissing him.

“What do you want for Christmas?” you ask once you’ve finally pulled away, and his forehead is resting against yours.

“I won’t be as cheesy as you,” he teasingly answers. “There’s this game I’ve wanted for a while? Maybe you could get me that. It’s multiplayer, we could try to play together?”

“Isn’t Tae your gaming buddy?” You’re teasing him, because in truth you’d love to game with him. You’ve liked watching him play so far, and you reckon playing with him could also be fun.

“You could be one too!” he insists. “We could get Jo to play with us, I’m sure she’d love it.”

You laugh, softly, before pecking his lips once more. “Sounds good. I’ll get the game for you.”

He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. His thighs are on each side of you, and you can’t resist but run your hands up and down, feeling his muscles.

“You’re the best.”

When he kisses you again, it feels different. More intense, languid, and you immediately know where it’s going to lead. You reckon you’ve wanted a break, and indulging in Jungkook seems like a good way to do it. So you let him press you against him, while you keep dragging your hands on his thighs.

He pulls away, and you move to his jaw, and then to his neck, leaving a trail of hot wet kisses behind. He breathes in sharply, tilting his head to give you better access.

“Should we go to your bedroom?” he breathlessly asks, and you nod while you suck a mark on his skin. He hisses, and his gaze is dark when you step away from him to head towards your bedroom.

He follows you, hand finding yours so you can pull him behind you. The moment you’re in your bedroom he loses all restraints, grabbing your face to crash his lips against yours. You think you can taste blood, but it’s hard to form coherent thoughts when he kisses you like that, like he’s been starved for so long. Like he needs you to replace the oxygen in his lungs and the blood in his veins.

It’s mind-numbing, and you hold onto his shirt, clutching it in your fists. You almost want to tear the fabric off his body, but you like his shirt – he looks good in it. You don’t want to ruin it. But the way he’s kissing you right now… you’re pretty sure he wants to ruin you. And you want to let him do it, want him to use you.

He’s good at it. Sex with him just keeps getting better and better, as you get to know each other’s body more every day. You know how he likes pain – whether it’s your nails digging in his back, your teeth in his shoulder, or your hand clutching his balls while you suck his dick. He knows you like it as well, especially when he chokes you or slaps your ass. It works well together, and you feel like he was made for you, through every aspect of your relationship.

Jungkook is perfect for you, and you’re going to show him right now.

You pull away from the kiss, immediately dropping to your knees. The impact on the hardwood floor hurts, but you’re already busy pulling his joggers down his legs. Jungkook’s tongue is poking at his cheek, the only indication that he wanted to be the one pleasing you, but he doesn’t resist. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, before tangling it into his firm grip.

He’s soft. The bulge in his boxers is already big though, even if you know it grows a lot whenever he gets hard. He watches you carefully as you pepper small kisses on him through his boxers, hands caressing his thighs. You follow the line of his scar on his left line, massaging it gently as you tease his dick with your teeth, looking up at him innocently.

“Take them off,” he commands, and you tilt your head to the side.

“Why should I?”

A storm passes in his eyes, and he pulls on your hair, once. It hurts, but you hold onto the smirk on your lips, because you like being a brat with him. It makes the sex ten times better.

“That’s how you want it to be, uh?”

You bite your lips as one of your hands moves to the bulge. You palm him, and he sits heavy in your hand. He’s growing semihard already, and when you press a kiss to the tip, you’re pretty sure you’ve tasted precum. Just to make sure, you lap at him, and a satisfied smirk grows on your lips when Jungkook hisses.

“Don’t tease,” he warns, pulling on your hair once more. “I want to see your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, mmh?”

“Do you?”

He clenches his jaw, tilting his head to the side. “And you want me to bring you out to a winery. Going to have to punish you first.”

“We both know you like it,” you tease.

His silence is answer enough, and you decide to finally give in to him. You hook your thumbs in his boxers, pulling them down in one swift motion. He steps out of them and kicks them somewhere in your room, while you look at his dick sitting prettily in front of your face.

He’s still just semihard. You’ll be able to deep throat him, and he sees it in your gaze as you grab the base of his dick.

��Be nice,” he warns. “Ease into it, baby.”

“Anything for you, Kook,” you purr, and then you dive in. Heading for one of his balls, sucking it in your mouth and twirling your tongue around it as you start jerking him off lazily, with not nearly enough pressure for what he likes.

He lets you do it only because you’re sucking on his ball, and when your teeth graze the sensitive organ, he pulls your head back so hard you actually wince.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, releasing your hair. “Are you okay?”

You lick at his slit, tasting the precum. “I deserved it, uh? Don’t you want to punish me?”

“I…” he trails off when you suck hard on the tip once, hollowing your cheeks. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You pull away. “You’re good, Kook, you know I like it rough. I’ll tell you to stop if it’s too much.”

He doesn’t need more to grab a handful of your hair again, pushing your head towards his dick. “Then be a good girl and suck my dick, baby.”

You smirk, before obeying. He’s already gotten a little harder, so you take most of what you can in your mouth, jerking off the part that doesn’t fit. You tease the underside of his dick with your tongue, before swallowing around him. He grunts, throwing his head back, and you watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows.

You keep at it for a while, feeling his dick getting harder and harder with every swipe of your tongue, every hollowing out of your cheeks. He’s grunting, breathing heavily, and it’s a melody to your ears. To know you’re the one pulling that out of him, the only one at that, makes you feel important.

“You want to take me all the way in?” he asks, voice dark and husky as his arousal starts to take over his mind. “I could fuck your mouth.”

That makes you pull away. “You could eat my pussy at the same time. Let’s see who’s going to come first.”

He smirks down at you. “We both know that’d be you. I already know you’re dripping for me.”

You are. You can’t lie. So you squeeze your thighs together, moaning softly before stuffing Jungkook’s cock in your mouth once again. You loosen up your throat, taking all of him in this time, and when he hits the back of your throat, you hold in the gag reflex.

His other hand finds your head too, and he holds you there, circling his hips slowly.

“Your mouth feels so fucking good,” he praises. “I’ll never get tired of it.”

And he doesn’t have to. You love sucking him dry, love swallowing his hot seed whenever he decides to come down your throat. You love pleasuring him, love everything when it comes to him.

Your eyes are tearing a little when Jungkook’s hips move back, but he still holds your head into place. When just his tip is still in your mouth, he says, “Can I fuck your mouth a little before we move to the bed?”

You nod, and he pushes back in, slowly. When he hits the back of your throat, you moan around him, and the grunt he lets out is heavenly.

And then he really starts fucking your mouth. Thrusting in and out, as your drool rolls on your chin. You just keep on moaning around him, trying to keep eye contact even though your eyes are tearing up more and more. Soon, his grunts morph into moans, and you almost think he’s going to come down your throat.

But he suddenly pulls away, his breathing ragged. “We got to stop here, I really want to fuck you.”

You pout. “I don’t mind you coming in my mouth.”

“After I’ve at least got to fuck you, babe. Then I’ll come down your throat and you’ll swallow everything for me.”

Mischief lights up your gaze as you nod, getting up. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

He’s back to kissing you in no time, his tongue assaulting your mouth. You suck on it as his hands grab at the meat of your ass, massaging it and forcing you to step impossibly close to him. His cock rests against your stomach, and you just want it to be buried inside of you already. So you force yourself to pull away from the kiss just long enough to say, “Bed?”

Jungkook nods, and then he picks you up swiftly. You giggle a little, because you know exactly what he’s going to do. And he does it, throwing you on your bed like your weight is nothing to him. You reckon you might seem weightless to him – he works out a lot, with the help of his physical therapist. It’s helped him with the pain in his leg, though he does sometimes complain about the itching and pulling of the scars still.

Whenever he does, you make sure to show him just how much you love his scars. And you think he’s started to love them too.

He takes off his shirt before joining you on the bed, hands pulling on your ankles to make you lie down. You yelp a little, mostly because it surprised you, but when he pulls your pants down, the yelp morphs into a small breathy sound. Especially as he presses soft kisses to the inside of your thigh once you’re naked, revering every inch of your skin. He’s left your panties on though, and you almost feel his gaze burning you through the fabric.

“You’ve soaked your panties,” he comments. “Always so ready for me.”

“I just want to have your cock buried in me,” you whine as his kisses move closer to your core.

He smirks against your skin, before softly biting into it. When you hiss, he uses his tongue to lap the sting away. “Then you shouldn’t have been a tease.”

You want to curse him, to tie him up on your bed so you can sit on him, so you can use his dick to pleasure yourself, but when he wraps his lips on your clit through your panties, you moan.

He’s quick to pull your panties to the side, tongue lapping at your entrance twice before he’s moved up to your clit. He draws circles on you, presses on the sensitive organ.

“You taste so good,” he praises. “So sweet.”

Your teeth dig in your bottom lip when he sucks hard. “Kook…”

“Baby.”

As if to reward you, one of his fingers finds your entrance. He teases it for a few seconds, before pushing in, ever so slowly. And then he arches it, finds the sweet spot that makes you see stars, and makes it his mission to make you come as quickly as he can. He pumps his finger, alternates pressing on your clit and sucking on it. A knot starts to form in your lower stomach, and he adds a second finger, adding scissoring motions to the ordeal.

That’s when you start moaning, unashamedly. Loudly, even though you think your neighbors might hear. You don’t care about that, just care about the feeling of the knot tightening and tightening inside of you. It’s about to snap when Jungkook entirely stops, pulling away from you, denying you the orgasm.

“You’ll come around my dick instead, uh?”

“Fuck,” you curse.

He’s only smirking, as he kneels between your legs. “Take off your shirt.”

You bite on your lower lip, sitting up just enough to pull on the fabric. Jungkook helps you, and when your breasts come into view he lets out an appreciative sigh.

“Always so fucking hot. I knew you weren’t wearing a bra.”

It’s your turn to smirk. “I know you like it when I don’t.”

“A good fucking girl indeed.” He bends down to kiss you stupid, and when you fall back on the bed he remains kneeling. His large hands cup your breasts, pushing them together. He seems to like what he sees, because he says, “One of these days I will have to fuck your breasts.”

You look down at yourself. “Don’t think I have enough for that to work.”

“Oh, trust me, baby. You’ve got plenty enough.”

On that note he aligns his dick with your entrance, holding your panties to the side once again. For some reason, he likes doing that. Fucking you while you’re still wearing your panties. Likes to ruin your underwear, until both of your juices are soaking them up.

Today is no different. He pushes all the way in, making your eyes fall shut at the sudden intrusion, and you moan loudly as he lets go of the panties to hold your waist instead.

“Now, you’re going to come around my dick, okay?” he tells you. “Tell me what to do to make you come.”

“Kook,” is all you can say as he pulls almost all the way out before fucking into you hard again. “My…” He starts going back and forth, quickly, and your mouth falls open on a broken moan. He’s stretching you wide open, and the usual burn only turns you on further, only brings back the knot in your stomach. You try to focus, and it takes you a few seconds before you’re able to form a sentence. “Rub on my clit,” you say.

He stills deep inside of you. “Ask nicely.”

“Please, Kook.” You reach down, about to do it yourself when he grabs your hands, before holding both of them over your head. When he’s sure you won’t touch yourself again, he starts fucking into you, and he does rub on your clit with his thumb. His touch is light at first, testing your sensitivity, and when you beg for him to go harder, he obeys, timing the motions of his thumb with the back and forth of his hips.

Your hands find purchase on a pillow over your head, and you clutch it tight as you feel the knot returning. With his free hand, Jungkook grabs your neck, holding you into place. And when he starts feeling your walls clenching on him, his fingers dig into your arteries.

“Come for me, baby.”

You choke out a moan, as the sensations suddenly grow tenfold, and then everything snaps inside of you. You cry out his name, and he relaxes his grip on your neck as you come undone, walls pulsing around his shaft. He stills deep inside of you, probably in an attempt to not come too, and when you’re finally coming down from the high, he meets your gaze.

“Still want to swallow my cum, mmh?”

“Kook, fuck.” You chuckle a little. “You’re ready to come already?”

His features grow even darker, and you watch as beads of sweat roll on his cheek and on the side of his neck. “Nah, I think I want to fuck you stupid some more.”

“Shit,” is all you have time to mutter before he’s going at it again. Quick, hard, and he pulls your legs on his shoulders to hit inside of you at a better angle. You’re soon a moaning mess again, and your walls clench around him some more. He holds your legs in place, fucking into you so hard you think he’s rearranging your guts. He’s a grunting mess, and you watch him for a few seconds. He looks so good fucking you like that, chest flushed red, inked arm wrapped around your legs. His other hand is on your hip, fingers digging in the supple skin. Some of his hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead, and if you weren’t focused on letting him pleasure himself, using your pussy, you’d reach out between you to brush the hair away.

But you don’t care right now. You’re fucked out, blissed by the orgasm you just had and the pleasure he’s still bringing to you. You’re still sane enough to think about his leg, to be concerned that it’s going to hurt later, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to care at all.

It takes a while before he slows down, and his movements are slow and languid when he speaks again. “I want to see your lips around my cock again.”

He lets go of your legs, pulling out of you. You miss him right away, but you want to pleasure him far more than you want him to be fucking you right now. So you get on all fours, before sitting back on your heels. Jungkook gets up, standing on the side of the bed, before holding out his hand for you to take.

You grab it, gently, and he pulls you closer to the side of the bed. Because it’s easier for him to come when he’s standing, and you know he’s holding the orgasm in already.

You sit on the side of the bed, before massaging his thighs once more. Eyes meeting his as he’s looking down at you, towering over you. You ignore his dick, but when he moves closer, tapping it on your lips, you can’t resist to lick at him.

All you taste on him is yourself, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on even more.

“Suck me, baby. I’m so close.”

“Fuck my mouth, then. Use me.”

“You think you can’t make me come?”

Oh, the little shit. You’re going to make him come just fine.

You look down, eyes following the vein on his dick. It’s glistening from your juices right now, and when you wrap your lips around his tip, you really do taste yourself. It’s a taste you’re getting used to, because Jungkook really does like to come down your throat.

You grab the base of his dick in one hand, using the other to palm at his balls. His insufferable smirk melts away as you start working on him, alternating sucking on his tip and playing with his frenulum with your tongue. He’s rock hard in your mouth, far harder than he was earlier, and you know he’s going to come in no time.

So you start bobbing your head up and down his shaft, swallowing around him whenever he hits the back of your throat. He’s a grunting mess, a moaning mess, by the time you start squeezing his balls, and you hold eye contact as you pleasure him.

“I’m in love with that fucking mouth of yours,” he says, and his eyes flutter shut. “You’re so fucking good.”

You moan around his dick, which in turn makes him hiss. And when he starts moving a little, his motions sloppy, you know he’s about to come. So you squeeze harder, suck harder, and moan around him as hot shots of his seed hit the back of your throat. You swallow it as he comes, listening to the chorus of moans and curses he’s letting out, with your name laced into it. It’s sinful, hot, and you think you could also come just listening to him like that.

When you’ve milked the last of his orgasm out of him, Jungkook pulls away, your mouth making a popping sound when he’s out. He chuckles, bending down to press a kiss on your forehead, before grabbing your jaw.

“You swallowed everything?”

Ever the obedient girl, you open your mouth to show him that you indeed did. He seems satisfied, and he kisses your forehead once more, before grabbing your hand. You already know he’s going to pull you to the shower, and you follow him, eyes falling to his ass.

He’s got a great ass. Not necessarily big, but it’s muscled, defined, and the thighs that complement it turns it into a work of art, in your opinion. You love Jungkook’s body, love the care that he puts into it, and you don’t think you’d get tired of looking at him.          

He glances over his shoulder. “Like the view?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Shut up.”

“You’re the one that’s staring at my ass! Even I don’t do this to you.”

You frown, digging your heels in the ground to stop in your spot. “You’re annoying.”

“I’m right though.”

He isn’t. You know he likes watching your body too, likes revering every inch of it with his lips and hands and gaze. He makes you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, and you reckon he deserves you making him feel like this too.

“You aren’t,” you finally say. “But, why can’t I look at you? You’re hot.”

“I’m ‘hot’,” he repeats. “Wow.”

“It’s a compliment!”

He bursts out laughing, before pulling you into a hug. “I know, I’m being a little shit. Thank you.” He adds your name sweetly, and then presses a peck to the top of your head. “By the way,” he says against your hair, “Do you want to come to my photography exposition next week?”

Your heart melts in your chest, and you wrap your arms around his waist to hold him flush against you, even though he’s still sweaty from the sex. “Of course, Kook. I’d love to come.”

You look up to meet his gaze. He’s smiling softly, with that lovesick look to his eyes that makes you feel like you’re swimming in ecstasy.

You want him to look at you like this until the day you die. Want to look at him like this too. Because, truly, you become the most important girl in the world when he looks at you like this. The most important girl in that world of you two, that space that belongs just to you.

“Thank you,” he finally whispers, and then he kisses you softly. “Let’s shower now.”

You chuckle, before following him into the bathroom.

Friday, December 14th

                Jungkook is anxious. He’s been wanting to show you his photography for a while, but he’s always refrained from doing it. Partly because he still remembers you nagging him in Chicago about taking so many pictures of you, but mostly because this exhibit feels personal to him. It’s a collection of moments he experienced throughout the year, and when he looks at it, he feels like it’s his soul bared. And even though he’s bared his soul to you countless times before, it’s different like this. He doesn’t even know if you’re going to like it.

He sighs, shakily, before wiping his clammy hands on the fabric of his dress pants. They’re pale, and his light blue dress shirt is tucked neatly into it. It’s a little too tight on him, and he’s been getting looks from some people a couple of times, but most people avoid his exposition.

Mostly because Laura made it clear that he was an asshole, and all of her photography friends started hating on him too. Before, he would have probably been angry about it, upset with Laura, but now he feels like it doesn’t matter. He knows his friends are all going to come anyway, and though it’s been stressing him out, he knows that it’ll be fine.

The first friend that gets here is Namjoon. Namjoon, the biggest art nerd. Somehow, it soothes Jungkook that he’s the one here first. Because if the exposition is trash, he knows his friend will give an honest review.

Namjoon claps his hand and pulls him into a bro hug, his eyes going over the pictures. He smiles appreciatively, glancing at Jungkook.

“You should really become an art photographer. I told you you’re good at it.”

The praise makes Jungkook’s eyes well up with surprising tears. “Joon…”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon insists. He looks at the exposition again. “It’s a cycle. Twelve pictures, with light changing ever so slightly in all of them. And the centerpiece? You’re a goner.”

Jungkook blushes deep red, and he digs his hands in his pants. “Uh… It just felt fitting.”

Namjoon smiles, nodding slowly. “Of course. I’m happy for you, man.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook chokes out. “I’m… so fucking anxious for her to see it.”

Namjoon playfully pushes him. “Every time I’ve seen her she just looked at you with hearts in her eyes. She’s gone for you just as much as you are for her.”

“Is she?” Jungkook asks, toying with his piercing, though he already knows. He’s seen the switch in you – the way you grew softer around him, the way you take every opportunity to be with him and cherish it like it’s the last. You make him feel like he was born one day to find you, like you were the purpose of his life. It’s an intense feeling, a scary one, but he reckons when he was younger he always believed that he’d know when he was going to meet the right one.

Well… He didn’t know it right away with you, right? It took him what… seven years? Eight? He doesn’t even remember. But when the switch happened in him, he knew right away. He knew right away that you were the one, that he’d have to spend the rest of his life making sure that you know that. Making sure to prove it to you. He thinks he’s been doing it now, though he has to admit he was too scared at first. Hurt you instead of loving you. But he believes he’s been doing better now. Believes he’s redeeming himself a little more every day.

He stops his train of thoughts, because he’s getting emotional and you’re not even here yet. Namjoon tells him he’s going to look at the rest of the exhibition, and that he’ll come back when the rest of the friend group arrives. Jungkook watches him go, before grabbing his phone out of his back pocket to occupy himself.

[5:47 pm] You: i’ll be a little late. i’m stuck in traffic, but i’m close! [5:47 pm] You: i’m sure u’re doing great! my dad told me to wish u good luck

What you don’t know is your dad told him himself. They’ve been talking, from time to time. Mostly because your father believes he should come to California for the Holidays along with you. Jungkook hasn’t decided yet, because he doesn’t want to impose and he doesn’t want to make you feel forced to welcome him. Your father says he’s sure you’ll accept, but he hasn’t had that conversation with you yet.

He feels like if tonight goes well, then it might be the moment to ask.

[5:48 pm] jkonthebeat: joonie is already here! i think jo and tae should get here soon [5:49 pm] You: jo told me they’ll get there with jimin and scottie, and scottie just texted me that he saw laura and feels like murdering someone

Jungkook almost laughs out loud, but he stops himself just in time to see that Scottie, Jimin, Taehyung and Jo indeed just got here. They all wave when they see him, bright smiles on display, laughing about something they probably were joking about before they saw him. Jungkook waves them over, and the anxiety spikes once more as they take a look at his photography.

When they all compliment him, Taehyung and Jimin clapping him on the back and telling him that they’re proud of him, his anxiety calms down once more. He’s relieved, and at this point he’s pretty positive you’ll like it too. Because if his closest friends, who take every opportunity to tease him, tell him that he did a good job, then he reckons he did.

They all stay with him, and Namjoon comes back a moment later, as they all talk and joke around. Jungkook can’t help but feel gazes on him: Laura and her friends. He’s pretty sure Laura would murder him if she got the chance, and he only knows it’ll grow tenfold when you get here.

The presence of his friends grounds him, and when the examiner comes to look at his exposition, Jungkook’s speech is strong and steady, as he explains everything that he wanted to represent in the pictures. He explains how the light follows the hour of the day, and his emotions at the time. Each picture represents a month, last year. It starts in January, when he wasn’t doing great at all. The pictures are darker in the beginning months, then gradually get lighter in May and June. They’re hopeful, those pictures. One of them is a picture of the frogs under the bridge next to the dance studio, and he remembers when he walked with you, after dance practice all those months ago. He remembers the hope he felt, how his steps were light for the first time in months.

Then it all grows dark again in July. The picture isn’t unhappy. It’s the night sky at the cottage that he photographed with a long exposure tape. It isn’t sad, no, because it does remind him of you. But he chose it because July was sad, too, as were the following months. Dark pictures for August and September follow. A stormy night when he couldn’t sleep, and he knew Laura was asleep in his bed when he took the picture, yet he couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to be with her.

He was thinking of you, hating himself for choosing her.

October becomes lighter again, slowly. A picture in the shade in Chicago. You’re in it, as are Taehyung and Jo, with your backs turned to the camera. He’s titled it ‘Where I learned to live again’. Because truly, that’s how it felt to him. That trip to Chicago… it made him feel reborn.

November is a picture he took from the window of your apartment, of a bright, golden setting sun. That one he titled ‘Where I found hope again’. Because he found hope while being with you, more than you can imagine.

The last one is a picture of a bright, snowy day you spent with him a week ago. The storm hit unexpectedly, and you stayed with him, at the house with the other boys. It’s a picture of the backyard, with you all laughing around as you’re making snow angels. The picture is focused on you, with your big grin and rosy cheeks from the cold.

This one is called ‘Where I learned to love again’, but to be fair, he started to love again way before that. And it’s represented in the picture in the middle of the twelve, the one he chose to put there months ago. Back then, he didn’t know if he wanted to present his project at the exhibition, but with how things have evolved with you, he decided to do it.

It’s a picture of you, laughing, that he snapped in July at the cottage. He’s written a text next to it, a dedication to you, and that most of all is the reason why he’s anxious for you to see it.

In the forgotten space between then and now, her smile lingers. Healing, shining, like the sun after a long winter. Months that led to her, and now warmth clings to the world. The sun rays refuse to go away, and they shine ever so brightly after the darkness. Her light gives life, her smile gives hope, and her heart gives love.

It’s cheesy. Now that he thinks of it, he almost regrets writing that. But he knows that art blossoms where there’s love, and you’ve been his muse all year. Because most pictures, starting in April, are related to you. A story of how you got to where you are now.

His exhibit is called The Forgotten Spaces. It’s about how while he experienced those moments at first, he didn’t know. Didn’t realize what they meant. How he forgot that they meant something. Now, looking back, he knows that all of these moments meant everything. Meant everything to you and him, as they are your forgotten spaces, and he doesn’t care what anyone thinks about it.

Doesn’t care that Laura has been throwing him side eyes, and how he might have gone too poetic on the project. He’s proud of what he did, and he just can’t wait for you to see.

When the examiner walks away, with a “Good job” and a bright smile, Jungkook once again relaxes. His friends are still nearby, and their chatter dims out the rest of the room, until he’s only focused on them. They’re talking about getting drinks after, to celebrate, and Jungkook can’t help but start feeling excited.

It only grows tenfold when he notices you walking in. You look so pretty standing there, scanning the room as you search for him. You’re wearing dark pants, with a pale blouse you’ve tucked into them. When your gaze meets him, you light up like you’re the brightest star in the night sky, and you wave at him as you make your way closer.

You do notice Laura too. To Jungkook’s surprise, you offer her a smile, and then walk past as if you don’t care about her. And he reckons maybe you don’t anymore, after all that’s happened.

“Hey,” he greets you when you stop next to him.

Your gaze hasn’t moved to the pictures on the wall behind him yet. You’re entirely focused on him, and he senses his friends taking a few steps away to allow you two some privacy. You grab his hand, a thing you do in public because you’ve told him you don’t like public displays of affection, but that holding hands doesn’t count. He still can’t resist but pull you a little closer, and he grabs your other hand.

And then his heart starts beating wildly in his chest, because you look over his shoulder, tiptoeing to see the wall. And he sees thousands of emotions moving on your features, until you just turn fully red.

“Oh my God, Kook,” you let out. “Is your exposition about me?”

His heart sinks in his chest. He feels like he did something wrong, like he shouldn’t have taken pictures of you, but then you add, “You’re so fucking cheesy, what the hell.”

It’s like a weight is lifted from his shoulders, and he smirks down at you. “I mean, how could I resist? You’re my muse.”

“Stop!” you say, punching him in the chest. You then walk around him, taking a proper look at the pictures. “Is that why you didn’t want me to see, before today?”

Because you’ve asked. Countless times, but he always told you he’d rather not spoil the surprise. And when you turn and offer him a smile so sweet it tastes like honey, Jungkook knows he did the right thing.

“Yeah,” he says, and he turns around to motion at the pictures. “All of them are titled? And the one in the middle…”

“Wait,” you let out. “Wait, did you write a poem about me too? Jungkook, what the fuck?”

If he couldn’t see your teary eyes, he’d think you’re angry. But you clearly aren’t – at best, you’re probably just overwhelmed.

“I mean, it’s not a poem?” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… It kind of explains the whole thing, and why I chose those pictures.”

At that you take a step forward, to look at the pictures closely. He lets you do it, lets you read the titles, following the chronological order of the months of this year. He can see your blush deepening when you get to the pictures where you can be seen clearly, and then you’re reading the text in the middle closely. He thinks you reread it a couple of times, because it takes you a while before you glance at him again.

You’re still teary-eyed when you do, and you extend a hand towards him. He takes it gently, raising it to his mouth so he can press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Don’t cry,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to make you cry.”

You choke out a laugh. “This is just… Everyone can see this.” Another rush of anxiety moves through him before you add, “I just can’t believe I get to be with you. Like…”

You turn towards the pictures, and point towards the one from April, which is just a picture of a street light in the fog. “I hated you then. I hated you so bad, wished you had never come back into my life. And then… and then we fell in love, we hurt each other bad, and fell in love some more. Like…” You pause, because tears are moving on your cheeks. He reaches to dry them, and then you continue. “I can’t believe we’ve been through all of this, and finally figured it out.” You look away from him to say the next words. “I can’t believe I was afraid at first. There’s nothing scary about being with you.”

Your words echo in his mind for so long after you’re done talking that he just remains frozen next to you. They calm his heart, warm his soul, and make tears form in his eyes too, tears that he blinks away before scraping his throat in an attempt to get rid of the lump that was forming there. He murmurs your name then, for just you to hear.

“I love you,” he breathes out.

You look startled to hear the words. It’s the first time he’s told you ‘I love you’. You usually tiptoe around the words, using other ways to say it, like “I’m in love” or “text me when you’re home”, but now that they’re out in the open, they feel like the most natural thing he’s ever said in his life.

“Fuck, Kook,” you say, and you chuckle as a smile move on your lips, making your eyes shine from within. “I love you too. Thank you for being patient with me.”

He blinks his tears away. “Thank you for wanting to be with me, after everything. I’m still not sure I deserve it, but I really love you.”

“I know,” you say, nodding your head slowly. “But you deserve it! Like…” you trail off, motioning at the pictures. “Who would do this?”

“Is it… too much?” he asks, voicing his fear.

You laugh. “I mean… it’s a lot? But it’s so artistic and pretty, and I can’t believe I inspired you to do this.”

He echoes your laugh, shrugging his shoulders. “It was easy. I actually had almost everything done in October? I was just waiting to get the perfect pictures for November and December.”

“I can’t believe you used pictures of me,” you say, shaking your head. “Now everyone’s going to see my face.”

He pulls you closer, instinctively. “And they’re all lucky for it. But if you want me to take the pictures down already, I understand.”

“No.” You tilt your head to the side. “You’ve worked on this for so long, I won’t force you to take it down. It’s just… strange to see my face. But you’ve edited the pictures, right? No way I look this good.”

He rolls his eyes, gently nudging you with his elbow. “You do. And my camera is good quality. But honestly you barely needed any editing.”

You clearly don’t believe him, and you blabber on about it for a while. He just lets you speak, smiling fondly at you whenever you gaze at him. You eventually apologize for talking so much, and he laughs as he pulls you into his chest for a quick hug.

“Don’t apologize,” he reassures you. “I like listening to you. And…” He glances at the pictures. “I’m glad you like the project. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you it was mostly about you before? Maybe you wouldn’t have been a blushing mess then.”

“Jungkook!” you yelp out, and you pinch at his side in retaliation. He cringes, and then bursts out laughing as you aim for his sides again. He blocks you, grabbing your wrists and holding you in place. “I’m blushing because there’s pictures of me and your ex is here! And like… all those strangers too. Doesn’t mean I don’t like the project.”

“I know,” he says, chuckling. “I’m teasing you.”

He likes doing that. Teasing you. It shows him how, all those times he did it when you were younger, he probably meant something entirely different and was just too immature to realize it. To realize that you were the one for him. Now that he knows, teasing you fills him with giddy happiness, like a kid on Christmas morning. Mostly because you usually tease back, and you don’t disappoint tonight.

No, you end up bickering, until Jo tells you that you’re acting like an old couple. You both glare at her, but it stops the bickering, long enough for Jungkook to actually present his project to a couple of other people that have moved closer.

When the evening is over, and the last of the visitors are leaving including his friends, you stick around to help him take down the pictures. You hand them to him, though you hold onto the July night sky for far longer than he thought you would.

He glances around, satisfied to see that Laura’s left, before stepping closer to you.

“You can keep it if you want,” he tells you, and he steals a kiss on your temple.

You don’t even whine like you usually do in public. You just sigh, looking up at him. “I miss this weekend,” you admit. “It was so fun.”

“Maybe we can go next summer again?” he suggests. “I’m pretty sure everyone would be willing.”

It makes you smile, and you say, “I’d love to!” Jungkook is about to speak, but you quickly add, “And JK?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I…” you trail off, looking around, and your cheeks turn crimson once more. “I wanted to ask you something?”

You say it like a question, and it makes him chuckle. “What?”

“I know you’re… not going to go to Korea for the Holidays and…” You nibble on your bottom lip, meet his gaze once before letting yours drop to the floor. “Would you like to come with me? To California? I… my dad told me to invite you, and I’d like to have you there.”

His eyes well up with tears once again, and this time he doesn’t blink them away. “Of course! Of course, I’ll come.”

You step closer to him, wrap your arms around his middle and rest your head on his chest. “I know the plane tickets are expensive, but dad said he’d get one for you? So you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I can buy the ticket.”

“It’s a gift!” you insist. “Besides… he’s already bought it.”

Jungkook is surprised, because your father didn’t mention it last time he talked to him. But at the same time, he does understand why he wouldn’t have said it – your father probably wanted you to ask him yourself.

It’s understandable, and you look so cute fumbling with your words like that that Jungkook can’t help but press soft kisses on the top of your head. “Did he now?” He chuckles, and presses a kiss to your forehead when you gaze up at him. “Well, I guess I’m going to have to accept the gift, uh?”

You smile. “Yep, you’re going to have to,” you agree. And when you pull away, you let out an excited yelp that has him burst out laughing. “We’re going on a trip together!”

“We are,” he echoes, nodding his head. “I hope you don’t mind me sleeping on the plane ride. Planes make me sleep.”

You frown, and then chuckle. “You’re so weird.”

“That’s why you love me, uh?”

You look up at the sky as if annoyed, and then start giggling when he tickles your side playfully. “Stop!”

“Just because you’re cute,” he says, and he pecks your nose before pulling away.

He’s gone. He’s gone for you. He knows, his friends know, and sometimes he thinks the whole universe knows. And maybe that’s what happens when you’re destined to be with someone – when you finally reach them, when your paths finally cross and mesh to form one, it feels like the universe finds its meaning. And it does, for you. At least that’s how Jungkook feels, and that’s what inspired his photography project.

That night, when you lie in your bed, Jungkook makes sure to hold you close to him as he big spoons you. And when you mutter, half asleep, that you told your father your boyfriend will indeed be coming for the Holidays, Jungkook fights tears.

“Your boyfriend, uh?”

You nod against him. “You are, aren’t you? I think it’s time we make it official.”

And though it’s not like people didn’t already know, Jungkook still says, “So you’re my girlfriend, uh?”

You chuckle. “You did tell that girl at the Halloween party that I was your girlfriend, didn’t you?”

He had. He was embarrassed for a few seconds, until lust had taken over him, thanks to the alcohol and weed in his system.

“True,” he hums. “Well, then I’ll tell my mom that we’re dating? She’s been nagging me about you.”

“You… you talked to your mom about me?”

He presses a kiss on the back of your head. “Of course. I told her about you for the first time in June.” He pauses, then chuckles. “Well technically, she already knew who you were. I think I’ve been talking about you to her for years.”

“Kook,” you whine. “She probably hates me.”

He pulls you closer. “Nah, trust me. She loves you. She’s already talking about having us over during the summer break.”

He’d love to do that with you. To visit his home country, along with the person that feels like home to him. He thinks you’d like it there, even though you don’t know the language.

“Oof, you better teach me some Korean before then,” you say, and you both laugh. “All you’ve taught me so far is how to say hello and some curse words.”

“Got to start somewhere.”

You laugh again, and then you sigh, as you hold his arm a little tighter. “Indeed. Too bad I have nothing to teach you before we go to California.”

He chuckles deeply, and you talk the night away like that, even as you both grow tired. When you start yawning more than talking, Jungkook presses another kiss to the back of your head.

“We should go to sleep,” he says, and he fights a yawn. “We have to study tomorrow.”

You whine a little, in that cute way of yours. “Gosh, fuck studying. But yeah, we should go to sleep.”

“I… I love you,” Jungkook says tentatively.

He can hear the smile on your lips when you reply, “I love you too. Good night, Kook.”

“Good night.”

Monday, December 24th

                The house is loud, even though there’s only five of you. You think it’s mostly because Jungkook is playing with Louis, your father’s son. Your brother, sort of. They’re screaming in the living room, as Jungkook imitates the sounds Louis makes.

It’s adorable, it really is, and you reckon you like seeing how Jungkook acts with a kid. Even though you don’t want any, it just… rubs you the right way, you guess. Makes you want to hold him close to you, but then again you always want to hold Jungkook close.

Your father is currently working on something in his office. Even though it’s Christmas Eve, the grind doesn’t stop for him, and you know it won’t stop for you either once you graduate. Especially as you’re considering more and more to follow in his footsteps, as he suggested getting you in touch with the firm he was working at when he lived back on the East Coast with you and your mother.

That leaves you with Isabel, his new wife. She has been sweet to you – an angel, truly. Referring to you as her step-daughter, saying she always wanted a daughter and is really happy that she has you. You don’t know what your father told her about your relationship with your own mother, but you reckon it feels great to receive some motherly love, no matter how unexpected it is.

And she’s been giving you a lot. You got here three days ago and at first, it was a little overwhelming. But you’re already getting used to it, and you think it’s for the best. Because you do need it, especially in the middle of the Holiday season.

After all, it’s the first time you spend it without your mother. Even though you’ve never really received love from her, it still feels strange to be away, but you’re more accepting of it every day.

You haven’t really talked to her since she’s kicked you out. You don’t want to, and Mary agrees that it might be best for you to cut ties for now. She’s not opposed to you reconnecting in the future, as long as you keep a safe distance from your mother. For now, you don’t see that ever happening, and you feel comfortable with that. You don’t need your mother – she’s never really been a mother to you anyway.

“I don’t know who’s louder, your boyfriend or Louis,” Isabel complains and you chuckle as you glance at her.

You’re in the kitchen, and she’s putting the turkey in the oven for later tonight. You’ve been helping out a little, but she affirmed that she got it covered, so now you’re mostly just sitting on a bar stool, watching her work.

“Pretty sure it’s Jungkook,” you say, and you laugh as he indeed shrieks. “I think he prefers Louis over me.”

Isabel laughs, a crystalline laugh that sounds like she’s rehearsed it a thousand times. It’s pretty, and you’re a little jealous, knowing most of the times when you laugh you snort like a pig.

“Stop it, he’s head over heels for you,” she says, tutting. She rinses a cutting board, before putting it away in the dishwasher. “It’s actually kind of adorable.”

You feel the blush creeping up your neck, until it reaches your cheeks and turns them deep crimson. “Is it?”

Isabel nods widely. “It is! I wish your father still looked at me like that.”

“He does,” you reassure her. “He really loves you.”

Isabel smiles shyly, and she busies herself with washing some dish that she doesn’t usually put in the dishwasher. For a time, you both just listen to Jungkook and Louis, and then she speaks again. “I hope… I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

You hear the question mark at the end of her sentence, and it makes you look down at a random spot on the kitchen island in front of you. “Uh… I think it used to. But… being here right now helps?”

“I’m glad,” she says softly, and when you gaze up you find her smiling fondly. “I didn’t want to push the relationship before, but I think you deserve having your father in your life more. We’re happy to have you over whenever you want to.”

For some reason, you used to think she’d rather not have you over. It makes you blink away sudden tears, and you chuckle awkwardly. “Thank you. I wish I could host you three at home too, but my apartment isn’t big enough.”

“Yet,” she teases with a wink. “If you follow in your father’s footsteps you’ll be able to get a nice house for yourself and Jungkook.”

The perspective of a future like that, alongside Jungkook, makes butterflies arise in your stomach. “That’d be great. I can only wish I’m half as good as him.”

“And you know, if you really want to do international law instead of something in a firm like your father, you can too! He’s got great contacts at some embassies in Europe.”

You know that he does. But the need to get away, to live abroad, isn’t as strong as it once used to be for you. Because now you know that that was why you liked international law so much. Though you still find it interesting, you don’t wish to move away anymore. Not when you have Jungkook here at home.

“Honestly,” you let out slowly. “I think I want to stay here. In the US, I mean? I guess it depends on where Jungkook wants to go. He’s really close to his friends, and I wouldn’t want to force him to move away.”

Because the option of breaking up isn’t even there, and you don’t even want to consider trying long distance. No, you think Jungkook and you are made of stuff that lasts, of stuff that you can build a whole life on. He feels the same way – last night, he told you that one day he’d like to marry you. He was a little tipsy, that’s true, but it’s proof enough that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

“What about your friends?” Isabel asks.

You think of Jiho. Of Jisung and Heather and the rest of the dance crew. Of Jo, Bridget, and even Kiko. Of Jungkook’s friends too, because they’ve become your friends as well. You reckon you wouldn’t want to move away from them either. They’ve grown to be your family, even though you’re realizing you’ve always had a family here, in California.

“I love them too much to leave,” you admit, and it feels strangely relieving to say it. As if you’re allowing yourself to truly care about them, to truly accept that they occupy an important part in your life. “I think I’ve got a good future ahead of me, if I stay home. Yes, it’s hard because it’s close to my mother, but it’ll always be home.”

“And that’s totally okay!” Isabel says, offering you a bright smile. “You’re allowed to want to stay.” She pauses for a few seconds, before adding teasingly, “Even if your father really wants you to move here.”

You laugh along with her, and when silence rises around you again, you glance towards the living room. From the kitchen, you can only see a small part of it, and you can’t see Jungkook or Louis. But now that the turkey is in the oven, Isabel and you move over there, and you end up playing Just Dance with Louis, even though he’s a little too young to actually dance. Isabel says he loves the game, and Jungkook is happy to oblige.

You watch him as he dances. His movements have gotten more fluid over the last few months, as if all the physical therapy that he did has finally caught up to him. It’s to the point that you’ve discussed with him and the crew about taking him back in as a dancer, but he hasn’t decided yet. Everyone said they’d be happy to have him dance, but Jungkook seems like he’s been appreciating his spot as the choreographer more through the months.

Maybe because you’ve won an award because of his choreographies.

Jungkook catches you looking, and he winks at you over his shoulder. You smile as your cheeks tint pink, and then he’s back to focusing on the dance, even though he’s purposefully missing every beat to let Louis win.

Still, Louis doesn’t, but the toddler doesn’t care, only wanting to dance with you next. So you do, and Jungkook and Isabel talk together on the couch while you entertain Louis. Your father eventually joins the group, and you spend the rest of the afternoon playing around, until it’s time for Louis to take a nap.

You and Jungkook actually decide to take a nap too, mostly because Louis was throwing a fit at the fact that his sister didn’t have to sleep. He only agreed once you said you will sleep too, and you reckon you could use a nap in the comfort of your boyfriend’s arms.

And you do fall asleep quickly, as he’s holding you tight against him. It’s way too warm and you wake up drenched in sweat, but you don’t care. You take a shower while he remains in bed, bringing the clothes you’ve chosen for Christmas Eve along with you so you can get dressed right away.

It’s an ugly Christmas sweater, and Jungkook got one too, because your father insisted that you needed to dress with one to be welcomed at the table for dinner. To compensate for the silly look, you decide to put on makeup and curl your hair, and when you’re finally done, you exchange spots in the bathroom with Jungkook.

He quickly kisses you on the way in, telling you that you look amazing, and then you leave him to his own shower. You go back to your room to put away the clothes you were wearing earlier, and you’re about to head downstairs when your phone starts vibrating in your hand.

You freeze as your mother’s name appears on the screen, and as your heart drops down to your stomach.

It’s Christmas Eve, you think. She probably only wants to wish you a Merry Christmas, because surprisingly enough, she’s done that every year. Probably because Christmas is her favourite holiday. And it’s probably only because it is indeed Christmas Eve that you decide to accept the call.

“Hello,” you say as you put the phone against your ear.

She says your name, and she sounds relieved, as if she didn’t expect you to pick up at all. “How are you doing?”

“I’m great,” you tell her, but you don’t ask her the question back.

You don’t think she deserves you asking and, frankly, you don’t care about the answer enough.

“I’ve heard… that you’re not going to be at your aunt’s tonight?”

You sigh. “No. I’m visiting my father in California.”

“Oh,” she lets out. “Well then, Merry Christmas.” She pauses for a few seconds, as if she thought you were going to wish it back. “I was hoping to see you.”

“Why?” you ask, and you hope she doesn’t hear the tremble in your voice because, in truth, what she just said is breaking your heart.

“To… make amends?” she says. “I regret what happened earlier this year. It was mostly because I wanted to sell the house.”

You didn’t know she wanted that. It still doesn’t justify her actions – she could have just told you that instead.

“Ah,” you let out. There are a few seconds of silence, and then you add, “Have you?”

“Not yet,” she admits. “I haven’t been able to.”

You wait for her to say more, but she remains silent. You eventually cave in, asking, “Why?”

“Because I’ve been living there for a long time,” she explains. “It’s a place that’s dear to me, even though it holds a lot of bad memories.”

You scoff. “You know, you’ve got a lot of balls to tell that to me.”

“I don’t want to fight,” she quickly says. “I… I’ve been going to therapy. I’m still early in the process, but I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

Your heart breaks a little more, and you move to sit on the bed.

“I want to make efforts,” she continues. “I have been a horrible mother to you, and I know it’s too late to change the past, but I hope I can make the future better.”

“Listen mom,” you say, stopping her before she actually makes you cry. “I appreciate that you decided to get therapy. It was way past time. But… right now, I’m not in a place mentally where I want to allow you to be in my life. I really hope therapy helps you to become a better person, but it doesn’t mean I have to let you be in my life.”

She sniffles on her side of the line, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever heard her cry. It’s hard, almost makes you take everything that you said back, but you’ve worked too hard with Mary to just give up right now.

“I understand,” she eventually says. “If there ever comes a day where you think we can talk, I’m just a phone call away. We could grab coffee. I have a lot I want to tell you, and I don’t think it justifies how I acted, but maybe you’ll understand.”

The thing is, you don’t care. You want to keep your peace of mind, but you reckon it’s Christmas Eve. You don’t have to tell her this today and ruin her favourite holiday.

You really are the most mature out of the two of you, aren’t you?

“Okay,” you choose to say. “I’ll call you whenever I’m ready.”

“Thank you,” she whispers in the phone, voice heavy with emotion. “I’m sorry.”

Her apology hurts more than anything else could have. “Don’t apologize,” you tell her. “Instead, work on yourself, and prove to me that you mean it. If that can be the Christmas gift I ask for this year.”

“Yes,” she immediately says. “Of course.”

A long silence follows that, and you hear the shower turning off in the bathroom. You don’t want Jungkook to come back while you’re still talking to your mother, so you say, “Listen, I have to go now. Merry Christmas to you too.”

She wishes you goodbye, and she tells you to say hi to your dad for her. You know you won’t do it, because your mother will always be a sensitive subject when it comes to your father. But you still let her think that you will, because you don’t need to be a bitch right now.

You could be, you’re aware of it, but you think it’d upset you more than anything else. You don’t need the negativity right now.

You’re still sitting on the bed when Jungkook comes in, and it takes him one second to see your face and ask, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh, and you meet his gaze. “My mother called me.”

He looks startled, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. “What did she want?”

You tell him everything about the conversation, and once you’re done, you ask for his opinion. He sits on the bed next to you, grabbing your hand and toying with your fingers.

“I think you’re very strong, and I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself,” he carefully says. “And it’s actually a good thing that she’s in therapy, but honestly, I don’t think you need to let her back in. You don’t have to, and you should never feel forced to.”

Your eyes fill with tears, and you rest your head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Kook.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and even though he’s done it countless times before, it ignites a warm fire in your chest. A comfortable fire, one that can chase away any cold and darkness your mother brings to you.

“I got you,” he whispers in your hair. “Always. Whatever you need, tell me and I’ll get it for you.”

“You’re cheesy,” you tease him.

“You love it.”

You do. He knows that well enough.

You sigh, and then you sit straight once more. “Should we head downstairs? We could set up the table for Isabel.”

Jungkook nods, and he quickly pecks your temple before standing up. “How do you like the sweater?”

“You’re adorable in it,” you compliment him, standing up too. “I love it.” You wrap your arms around his waist, and he quickly hugs you back.

“Not as adorable as you, but thank you,” he says, and he giggles when you pinch his sides.

“Just take the compliment.”

He’s pouting when you look up at him. “Sorry, I can’t help myself. You really are adorable.”

You blush a little, and when he leans down to kiss you, you hold him tighter. Let him lead the kiss, though he keeps it soft and slow. It makes you feel reborn, complete, and when he pulls away, you sigh dreamily.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“Love you too,” he whispers back, and he pecks your forehead once before he leads you downstairs.

The evening ends up being a blast. You forget all about your mother as you’re laughing, chatting and eating along with everyone, with Christmas music playing in the background. When the subject of Jungkook’s exposition comes to the surface, you feel yourself turning beet red as Jungkook shows the pictures he used.

You still can’t believe he used you as a subject. Loved you enough to make you his muse, and to risk failing a project that was supposed to be a little more serious. Luckily enough, he passed with flying colours, and he even got a museum asking him to take pictures of their art for them, so they can put them on a web platform in an attempt to make their museum virtual.

Opening gifts has you all laughing till you are teary-eyed, with Louis being the receiver of most of them. You and Jungkook got him a small truck and a plush toy, and he’s been trying to fit the plushie in the truck, but so far he’s been unsuccessful.

To your surprise, Jungkook hands you a gift, a sheepish look on his features. You open it with a cocked eyebrow, because you don’t know how a trip to a winery fits in a box like this one. When you find an octopus plushie, one of those you can revert to make it happy or mad, you offer him a small pout, telling him you love it.

Luckily enough, you got him a gift too, with the help of his mother. She wanted to get him plane tickets for Korea, and asked you to give them to him. It was an awkward conversation, and you still have no idea how she got your phone number, but even with the language barrier you still managed to talk to her. She was sweet, kept saying how she can’t wait to meet you, and now you know you’re going during Spring Break.

Jungkook tears up when he sees the tickets, and he kisses you deeply in front of everyone else. Louis makes you laugh, letting out a disgusted sound and throwing his own plushie at you. It makes you pull away from Jungkook, though you keep hold of his hand for the rest of the evening. At a certain point, Isabel and you go upstairs with Louis since it’s way past his bedtime. The only way to get him to actually sleep is to tell him that he needs to be asleep for Santa Claus to come, and he begrudgingly says that he is going to try and listen for the reindeers on the roof. It’s adorable, and you refrain from telling him that the house doesn’t have an actual chimney for Santa to climb down in, refusing to be the one to kill the childish magic that Christmas still holds for him.

After that, you move to the other side of the house, to a private room with a bar, a pool table and a board game table. You settle at the board game table with Isabel, Jungkook and your father, and it’s there that your father gives you your gift, saying that he preferred not giving you that in front of Louis.

You understand why. It’s a bottle of whiskey, the whiskey you’ve seen him drink countless times growing up. You always asked him for a taste, and he always refused, saying that when you’re old enough, you’d get your own bottle. You cry a little when he pours you a drink, and then wince at the strong taste of the alcohol. Everyone laughs, and you tell your father it’s the best gift you’ve ever received, because frankly, it is.

You go to bed late that night, even though you have a dinner planned with Isabel’s family tomorrow night. You didn’t want to go at first, but since you’ve been getting along with her so well, you accept the invitation and then wish her and your father good night, before going to the room you share with Jungkook.

Jungkook groans as he plops down on the bed, face hidden in the covers. “That whiskey hit hard,” he complains.

You laugh, and you sit next to him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s strong, yeah. No wonder he never let me drink it as a child.”

“You would have died,” Jungkook agrees. He turns his head to the side, looking at you with a sweet lovesick smile on his lips. “This is fun.”

You’re confused, and your brows meet over your eyes. “What?”

He glances at the door, before looking back at you. “Everything. Your family, the vibes. Getting to spend time with you.” He pauses, then precises, “Getting to spend the holidays with you.”

You smile, scrunching up your nose shyly. “Right? I’m so happy.”

“And the plane tickets?” He looks away, hiding his face in the covers again. “How the fuck did you manage to do this?”

“Your mother called me. No idea how she got my number,” you tell him. “She asked me if I could give them to you, as a gift from us both. As if I thought of it. It was all her. But she said you’d be happier if you received them from me.”

You can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “Told you she loves you.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

He turns to lie on his back, one hand behind his head. He looks heavenly like this, and you climb on his lap.

“Oh,” he lets out.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” he says, chuckling. “Merry Christmas to me.”

“Is that so?” you tease, and you grind your hips against him.

He looks alarmed for half a second before his expression turns dark. “Oh, is that where this is going?” he asks, and his hands find your waist. “In your father’s home? You’ll have to be extremely silent.”

“Good thing we’ve got pillows, I can hide my face in one of those.”

It doesn’t take you long before you’re rid of clothes, and you’re back on Jungkook’s lap, kissing him languidly. He guides himself to your entrance, and when you sink on him, the lack of foreplay makes you wince in pain. But he soothes it right away by gently caressing your thighs, and when you kiss him again, it’s slow and sweet.

You make love that night. Like that first night at your apartment, emotions, passion and desire driving all of your moves. And for some reason, while you’re impaled on him, the lines of his poem, his dedication to you, come back to your mind.

In the forgotten space between then and now, her smile lingers. Healing, shining, like the sun after a long winter. Months that led to her, and now warmth clings to the world. The sun rays refuse to go away, and they shine ever so brightly after the darkness. Her light gives life, her smile gives hope, and her heart gives love.

You make love, hands holding his cheeks, rocking of your hips slow and steady. He reaches deep inside of you, filling you with pleasure and hope and life and love. Your forgotten space, where you’ll always meet. The forgotten space of your world ending, together. Of you and him, becoming just one for this last and first dance. Your boyfriend, your person, always and forever.

When you’re lying next to him after, you think about the months, about the hurdles. About the pain and that July night sky. About dancing, with him, about loving him. About getting to be his person, getting to spend your life with him. You think about everything, your soul filling with love – yours and his, entwined in the most beautiful tapestry. You think about his scars – the ones on his heart, on his body. The ones on your own heart. They’re beautiful, all of them. They make him, they make you, and they make the both of you together. You love him, deeply, more than you’ve ever thought you could love. You know that for the rest of your life, you’ll show him that love. Shower him with it, gift it to him without asking for anything back even though you know he’ll give it to you, no questions asked.

You know then, that you were put on this Earth for a reason. Like a fated connection – your souls meant to latch together, to mesh until they’re just one.

You can only hope that he knows it too. You hope that he knows his light gives you life, his smile gives you hope, and his heart gives you love. From this moment, until you dwindle away into the void of eternity.

You sit on the threshold of your memories, with him. Them that breathe for you. Your forgotten spaces.

Prev | Teaser for the sequel When the End Comes

☆☆☆☆☆

The way I am crying right now as I finish rereading? This story, I'm telling you... it makes me far too emotional. Thank you for accompanying me on this beautiful journey. For the last time, I'll ask you guys, what did you think? Did you like it? Was the healing enough after the angst?

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.

Taglist (strike-through means dumblr isn't letting me tag you my bad):

@pamzn | @whoa-jo | @sugaluvmyg | @kelsyx33 | @mafameal | @allisonstonex | @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs | @nadzzzblog | @bloopkook | @synnfulqt | @ggukiepie | @quarter-life-crisis2 | @amylouisecullen | @melodiesforari | @chimchimmarie | @jk-190811 | @notbotheredtho | @jjkluver7 | @chiefdreamercherryblossom | @soland1s | @kingofbodyrolls | @diorjgguk | @babycandy111 | @mindiary

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both worlds (part 8)

tw: like nasty living conditions implied

vote on da poll below ill start writing after 20 votes, next chapter will b focusing on monty

part 9

You can't do it. You can't say no to Yves without going through mental hoops. So you sigh as you let him conquer your room.

You had posters of your favorite artists, but they were all lost in the clutter long ago. It reemerged dusty and damaged, but Yves repaired it the best he could. It looks decent enough to hang.

You watched him cover his mouth in contemplation as he looked around the room, trying to figure out the best place to hang it.

Yves has done more for you than everyone else combined in your life. He cleaned, he cooked, he took care of your sickness, he cleaned you, he fed you, and now he's decorating your room to make it more habitable. All of this and you never said a word, neither protest nor request. You just let him do his thing.

From what you read in the group chat, he also replenished your section of the fridge with groceries.

Your housemate took a picture of the things he bought, all of them were labelled with your name. His handwriting is black marker ink undoubtedly beautiful.

Your housemate did warn him that you're not one for cooking, the perishables could potentially go to waste. He replied that he will be visiting over for the next few days to make your meals. One of them even broke the landlord's rules and gave him a spare key to the front door.

Eventually, Yves found the perfect places to position your posters' forever home. Who knew just the strategic placement of some piece of laminated paper would elevate a room? It looks much better and oddly bigger now... well maybe the latter due to his cleanup.

He clasped his hands and admired his work. As he should.

After that, he turned to you. Which made you jolt out of surprise.

"It's been an hour and a half. Do you still want to eat?" He asked.

You checked the time. He's right, it's now half past eleven. You're not hungry anymore, so you told him that you're full. He nodded and left your room again.

Your housemates blew up the group chat due to another wild Yves sighting around the house. Is this how it's going to be from now on?

This time, you received a picture of him portioning the leftover congee in disposable containers. He has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing his lean forearms. You're surprised to see that they were riddled in old scars. It was captioned: "He's freezing the rest"

You squinted and it looks like he's weighing them on an electronic scale. There's a marker pen in this picture.

You sent a message to the group chat asking if he's using his own items.

"I think so??? Idk i have never seen these containers b4" "well theyre not stained yellow yet, he has gotta have these brand new" "yea n hes using rich people sharpies, like none of us here can afford it, all of us get offbrands"

You wonder if he managed to fit them into his handbag.

Yves came back into your room, explaining that the congee will last up to 3 months in the freezer. He also walked you through the steps on how to reheat them by yourself, using the microwave or otherwise. Yves told you not to worry if you couldn't remember what to do, he wrote it down and attached it to the containers- or you could call him instead.

You nodded and waited to see what he would do. Yves seem to be doing the same thing to you for the next few seconds. Eventually though, he deem that you didn't need anything from him at the moment.

"I have to retrieve something from my car." He informed you, walking towards his bag and fishing out his keys. He checked the contents of his thermos cup, it's empty. The metal straw clanked around the walls as he picked it up and carried it with him.

You paid no mind to your housemates' frantic messages enquiring about his departure. You're too tired to care anymore, and you're too tired to know if you actually wanted him here or gone. It's nice to have company for once, but it's from a questionable source.

So you tucked yourself under your blanket and curled up into a ball. Hiding your head under your pillow so you wouldn't need to see Yves when he comes in.

You heard footsteps. And sure enough, Yves is now breathing the same diseased air as you.

But this time, he says nothing. Yves flicked the switch to your lights off and set whatever he has down on your desk.

There was a long period of silence accompanied by the soft sounds of typing. A dim glow from his computer screen illuminated his face and reflected on his reading glasses. He's logging in all the events, the observations and other pieces of data he collected from you today.

Yet you're not awake to see any of it. Blissfully sleeping and snoring away as Yves kept you company throughout the night.

__

You woke up the next morning feeling much better. But still not as healthy as usual. You should be fit enough to go to the university today.

Yves is gone and so are his belongings. However, you found a handwritten note addressed to you on your night stand.

"Your breakfast is in the fridge. Look for a mason jar with your name. It is ready to eat. -Yves"

You stretched and yawned, crumpling the paper and shooting it into the trash can.

You peeled the blanket off yourself and set your feet down onto the floor. That was when you realized he left something on the foot of your bed.

Another note resting on top of a set of neatly folded clothes and a bottle of sunscreen.

"The weather today will be reaching 90⁰F/32.2⁰C, take care of yourself and avoid the sun. -Yves"

The clothes he picked for you were the ones you forgot you had. It was breathable and cooling, but in your daily, personal style. He must have found it yesterday when he did your laundry.

You carried it in your arms and walked to your door to see yet another note- this time it was a folded A4 sized paper, attached to your bag, which looked noticeably lighter and... newer.

"I do not recommend leaving yet. But if you do, I packed an umbrella for you. Please wash your water bottle regularly, it is growing mold. Your bag was full of unnecessary paper scraps, wrappers, food crumbs, and other garbage. I had to hand wash it as I found a dried house lizard pressed between a dictionary and a magazine. Some of the notes and textbooks you carry were not even required for this semester or the next, hence I kept it away on your shelf. Your bag had holes at the bottom and was already falling apart at the seams. I sewed the best I could, but replacing and upgrading is the better option. Be mindful of your belongings.-Yves"

Your face became bright red after reading the last line. You never asked him to do this for you! Why is he judging? He chose to stick around! You don't like being told you're pathetic, directly or indirectly!

Did he really have to underline the word "mold" more than thrice? And why did he switch to red ink for that one word?

You took a deep breath and sighed. Exiting your room to pay a visit to the bathroom.

You were taken aback by the cleanliness. It looked like how it was in the listing, shiny and grime free. The shampoo and soap bottles were arranged neatly with no trace of dark sludge coating it.

There is another note stuck to the mirror.

This time, there were crude drawings depicting penises urinating on your name, no doubt vandalized by your housemates. You went ahead to read what Yves had to say.

"To (name), I replaced your toothbrush as that too, was growing mold. Pay attention to your hygiene or else you will be prone to sickness.- Yves"

There were hearts drawn all around his name, no doubt the culprit was your housemate who took a liking to him.

After taking a shower and changing into your new set of clothes, you left the bathroom to eat breakfast in the kitchen.

You opened the now pristine fridge and sure enough, there is a mason jar with a sticker of your name on its side.

You rotated it to see that he has written something else:

"Banana chia pudding: Chia seeds, almond milk, banana slices, vanilla extract, maple syrup, granola. Gluten-free and lactose-free. Do not heat, eat as is."

You're not sure how to feel about the taste, texture and temperature. It is "sick people" food after all. Perhaps you liked it, perhaps you don't. But you are definitely grateful that you have a free meal from Yves.

One of your housemates entered the kitchen, she greeted you as she began preparing her own meal.

You asked her what time Yves left.

"Beats me. His car was already gone when I woke up at 4am to take a piss. He did leave us a note though."

You asked her what she meant by that.

She shoved her hand in her pant pocket and handed a crumpled piece of paper to you.

"I will visit at 6pm, please take care of (name) for me. -Yves"

You asked where did she find this note.

"Next to the light switch in the living room" She cracked open an egg on her skillet.

You looked at the wall clock. It says 12:03pm

You have around 6 hours left before Yves comes back. There is nothing much to do in your house because the Internet runs at a snail's pace and there is no air conditioning. So you would be boiling in your room.

You think you're well enough to move around and you definitely do not want to spend time with your housemates.

You don't have to go to the university, since your exams are over and so are your classes for the semester. But all the study spots, including the library, have air conditioning.

[lvlystars]

funny valentine — l.c

pairing. lee chan x fem!reader

genre. angst, toxic!chan 😞

warnings. slight suggestive content. chan is a bitch. big nono man.

wc. 1.1k

a/n. y'all. i'm alive. based on true events btw, i've been declared not guilty, my lawyer hates me, and the man is now screaming at me from the grave 😇. jkjk. it would be crazy if i actually was convicted of murder tho. anyways, if i can't be happy on valentines, no one can !!!!!!!

feburary 14 (3:14 am)

— u up?

you scramble for your phone as your heart beats out of your chest, the mindless scrolling through your 'for you' page ending in that moment he texted you.

what is he doing at this ungodly hour? why was he texting you?

yeah —

— coming over in 5

no. he can't come. he just can't.

you try to text back to refuse, but he had already gone offline. you sigh as you sink into your mattress, turning off your phone as you wait for him to appear at your doorstep.

lee chan. the bane of your existence if you were to summarise your experience with him. on and off relationships, meaningless hookups, unanswered texts about what you two were, what label to put on your relationship — he was the red flag package deal. and yet, somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually cut things off with him. while he was all of the above, he made you feel loved, made you feel special with the way every single moment spent with him were the most exhilarating and euphoric moments, chan making sure to hug and kiss every inch of your body while he can, and handling your body with such care, as if you would crumble beneath his fingertips.

lee chan was playing you, and he was good at it.

a couple minutes later, you heard a knock at your door, and you immediately jolt up, your heart palpitating as you pull the covers off of you. once you finally reach the door, you pull it open to see chan leaning against the frame of your door, smirking down at you.

“i knew you’d answer me.” he pats your cheek softly before walking into your dorm uninvited.

“chan-”

“did you rearrange your place? shame, i finally had your dorm layout memorised so i wouldn’t bump into anything while we-”

“chan.” you sternly raise your voice, catching him off guard. he stares back at you, his eyebrow quirked up as he stood there, his hands shoved in his jeans.

“i…i don’t think we should do this anymore.” you stare into chan’s face, your face burning as chan’s eyes bore into yours, his expression morphing into one of slight confusion, a glint of enjoyment flitting across his features as he stalks towards you.

“baby, you're not serious, right? why would you want to let go of this…us?” he moves closer to you, holding you as he soothingly rubs your forearms. you shake your head, trying to squirm out of his grasp as his face lowers down to yours. “you’re my favourite, don’t you know that?” he mutters.

“no.” you push him away, your breathing growing more panicked. “chan, you and i both want completely different things. we are on opposite sides. this isn’t going to work out.” your voice trembles as you move towards your door, feeling cornered as chan continues to move closer to you. he towers over you as you shrink into yourself, feeling completely powerless and helpless.

“but i give you those things you desire, no? and you give me what i want." he tilts his head in mock confusion.

"y/n, honey, we’re two sides on the same coin. we need each other, why would you think something like that?” you can sense the tinge of hostility and toxicity behind his tone as he narrows his eyes at you, reaching his hand out to caress your face. you subconsciously lean into his touch, tears pooling in your eyes as you try to say anything to get out of this monstrosity of a situationship.

“then…then what are we? we’re not dating, you’re not my boyfriend…you hook up with tens of other girls on campus. i want someone who’ll stay loyal to me.” you sputter out, trying to compose yourself to your best ability as chan just laughs lightly, as if you were just stating a silly habit he had.

“we…we’re…we’re, y’know…” you look at him expectantly as chan looks slightly irritated at your persistence, huffing slightly.

“baby, look-”

“no. i don’t want to hear it. i’m tired of the mixed signals. if you’re not going to commit to a relationship, then don’t talk to me.” you cut him off, glaring up at him. you can see chan poking at his cheek with his tongue before he grabs you tightly by your shoulders, catching you off guard as he lowers his face down to yours, glaring at you.

“what, you think you’re special? special enough to have me as your boyfriend?” he mockingly laughs. “honey, there are tons of girls who are dying out there to just have sex with me, and you’re really going to leave all that just because you want to be in a relationship?” chan asks in a condescending manner, and you feel your heart drop to the pit in your stomach. you’ve only seen him get like this whenever he didn’t get his way with other people: his brown eyes filled with belittlement, as if you were a mere inconvenience in his way. his breathing was slowly getting erratic, he’s losing his patience.

lee chan was getting mad at you.

“i don’t know you, i don’t care whether i know you or not. i just saw you on campus, thought you were hot, and just had you to myself, just like other girls. i didn’t talk to you because i liked you.” he sneers, looking you up and down. tears pooled in your eyes as you stared up at chan in disbelief. “you and i do not have any kind of romantic relationship, i’ll tell you that. you want a label on this? fine: we’re just fuckbuddies. nothing more, nothing less.”

“if you’re gonna try crossing the line with all that relationship shit again, then i’m gonna have to just stop what we have, y/n. because i don’t want some brat that bitches about having me to themselves, got it?” he glowers at you. his face was now mere inches away from yours as tears were rolling down your face. you slowly nod before chan stands up straight again, patting your face again as he smiles.

“good girl. now i came here for a reason, ” chan sits down on your bed, smirking at you across the room as you’re still in the corner of the room, hastily wiping your tears before walking over to him. once you’re close enough, he grabs your waist tenderly as he rubs soft circles into your skin, grinning like a wolf while he looks your body up and down, making you feel exposed.

your face grows hot as seconds continue to tick by, and you’re taken aback as chan suddenly stands up, flipping you both around and throwing you onto the bed before he leans over you, leaning down beside your ear as you felt chills run down your body. your heart shatters even more when he whispers:

“happy valentines day, baby.”

tags 🏷️ —

@welcometomyoasis @wqnwoos @etherealyoungk @amxlia-stars @seuonji @star1117-archives @haowrld @kyeomyun @jaehunnyy @shieunviya @choicesthot @shaminari @georgia-hong

networks 🔗 —

@preciousillusions-net @cacaokpop-fics @caratsland @k-labels

SVT WORKS

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ⓒ lvlystars

[eoieopda]

aphelion (knj)

aphelion (n): the point in the orbit of a comet at which it is furthest from the sun.

Kim Namjoon was as perfect when you lost him as he was when you found him.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x AFAB!Reader Type: Flashback Prequel | Genre: Fluff & Angst, Smut | Rating: M (18+) AU: Strangers ⇢ Lovers ⇢ Exes, Lacunaverse (aka Lacuna!AU) Word Count: 19K Content Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST; gratuitously autobiographical; POV switches; Namjoon and MC are both musicians but not envisioned as "idols"; emotional support producer!Yoongi; self-insert!OC, jinseo; panic attack implied (crying, rapid breathing, chest tightness); depressive episode implied (lack of self-care, lack of appetite); a relationship dying in slow motion (ouch.) Smut Warnings: Vaginal fingering, lil bit of biting, implied unprotected sex, reader rides it like she stole it. A/N 1: This is the prequel to Lacuna and its sequel, Redamancy. It takes place over the course of two years (2020 to 2022 — we’re pretending COVID never happened, btw) and will have month/date info. at the top of each vignette. You can read the series chronologically (starting here) but I definitely recommend reading in the order it was written (Lacuna ⇢ Redamancy ⇢ Aphelion) because I think dramatic irony is fun and sexy. A/N 2: Endless thank you's to my emotional support moots, @jihopesjoint and @here2bbtstrash for beta-reading this unabashed entry from my diary. A/N 3: To my "Namjoon" — You were the best thing I didn't get to keep. I hope you found the sun. Suggested Listening: Spotify Playlist. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

2020/7/18; 18:23

As awful as he knew it sounded, Yoongi was grateful to have someone in his life who was equally riddled with social anxiety. That flicker of dread he felt in the pit of his stomach was easier to digest when there was a hand — metaphorical, mainly, because the real thing was the tiniest bit sweaty — to cling to whenever he had to feign extroversion. Before you popped up into his life, perpetually on vibrate mode in the way that he was, he’d ventured out of his studio even less than he did now.

With you, there had always been a silent understanding: neither of you ever wanted to attend the company events that appeared simultaneously on your calendars; neither of you ever successfully shook off the feelings of guilt and obligation that prevented you from bailing altogether; and neither had ever — would ever — consider attending without the other. Co-dependence at its finest, you wore each other like a backpack and held on tight.

One of the terms of this unspoken social contract was that, when it came time to rally for one of the aforementioned, godforsaken label parties, Yoongi rushed over whenever you put up the Bat Signal. Instead of a cartoonish symbol in the sky, it always came in the form of a text — usually with a minimum of six (6) very urgent emojis — declaring a fashion emergency. No questions asked, he showed up on your doorstep every time. Yoongi never had any valuable input to offer, but he could tell you when you looked nice.

You always did, but he tended to keep that part to himself.

When Yoongi finally arrived at your apartment this time, he didn’t bother knocking the way he used to. By now, he knew that part of your pre-party panic included unlocking your door for him whenever you sent out your SOS. So, he let himself in and left his shoes at the door. Immediately, he heard a relieved sigh waft out from your bedroom down the hall.

“Oh, thank god!”

He waited for the blush in his cheeks to fade before he continued his journey to you, willing his standard poker face back into existence before it ratted him out. 

“Do I need to call in a helicopter evacuation?” Yoongi called out to you as he padded off in your direction. “How bad is the avalanche?”

Before he could get halfway to your bedroom door, you poked your head out through the doorway. You had those pink, plastic cylinders in your hair — the ones that looked spiky and uncomfortable, but that you somehow never complained about — and half your makeup done. Even in that cactus-printed bathrobe, Yoongi wouldn’t have been surprised if you wound up with a spread in the next issue of Nylon.

You grimaced. “Admittedly worse than the holiday party, but nowhere near as bad as the Great MAMA Catastrophe of 2017.”

“So…” Yoongi teased with a tilt of his head, “Yes to the helicopter evacuation, then?”

He didn’t have time to emotionally or physically prepare for whatever awaited him on the other side of your bedroom door because you grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him inside as soon as he was within your reach.

Oh, good god, kid.

Yoongi opened his mouth to express how impressed — terrified? — he was by the explosion of outfits littering every surface of your room, but he quickly realized that no words would do it justice. He opted for a trademark, flat-line smile and a quiet grunt. You grimaced a second time, knowing full well what he hadn’t said out loud

Scurrying around him, you tore like a tornado through the immediate area to clear a path for him. You were clumsy enough to trip over every stray shoe but had reflexes — shockingly — quick enough to right yourself before your stumbling could send you to the ground. Once the carpet was sufficiently visible, you gestured to the small opening on your bed with a platform boot you’d unearthed somewhere along the way.

“You can, uh —” You continued waving the shoe in the direction of your bed, searching for the rest of your sentence. Yoongi watched in real time as your train of thought left the station.

More than a little endeared by your scattered brain, he offered, “Sit?” 

“Yes!” You snapped your fingers and pointed a finger-gun at him with a sheepish smile, “That. Do that while I try to find my vocabulary. It’s gotta be somewhere in this blast zone…” 

Voice already petering off, you wheeled back around to your regurgitated wardrobe.

Yoongi dropped into the only open spot on your mattress and leaned back to rest his weight on the palm of his hand. Settled into his usual space and routine, he fished his phone out of his pocket to check the time, as if the answer to that question would make a difference. 

It was half-six.

Ugh.

As always, the pair of you would wind up late; and, as always, that would still somehow mean that you’d be the first to show up. No matter how hard you tried to avoid it — leaving later and later for every party — you were perpetually, dreadfully guests numbered one and two.

“I never know what to wear for these things,” you whined, once again a disembodied head appearing in a doorway. 

When did you even sneak off into your closet? How were you physically able to reach it?

The rest of you reappeared underneath your head. You were clutching a dress in one hand and a skirt in the other, looking like your will to live had been hung up in their place. Worse, you had that little anime pout on, which didn’t bode well for the schoolboy crush Yoongi was secretly harboring, but you didn’t say anything. You just kept looking at him, eyes all pitiful and sparkly.

“Do you want me to ask him about the dress code?” he offered, unsure if that was what you were after but otherwise at a loss for solutions.

The look of mild-to-moderate panic washing over your face caused Yoongi to sigh. He knew you were thoroughly starstruck — he’d heard you gush over Namjoon and his new release for hours by now — but maybe he’d underestimated the extent. Your relief was immediate when he waved you off and said, “I’m not going to tell him that you’re the one asking.”

Yoongi [18:30]: on a scale of sweatpants to tuxedo, how hard do i have to try?

While he waited for an answer, Yoongi glanced back up to check your status. You’d once again disappeared in the few moments he’d glanced down at his phone screen. So damn sneaky. There was a significant amount of shuffling coming from the depths of your closet. Something shifted, then you yelped.

“You okay?” Yoongi called out, primed to get up and dig through the presumed rockslide for you.

Meekly, you popped back into view with one hand rubbing gingerly at the top of your head. You frowned. “I found my snow boots.”

“Sounded like your snow boots found you, kid.”

Yoongi’s phone buzzed in his hand. He ripped off the velcro-grip gaze he held on you and blinked down at the screen.

Namjoon [18:34]: Hyung, since when do you give a fuck about trying? lol

Yoongi chewed the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure what information to divulge: that he wasn’t asking because he gave a fuck; that you were the one who did; or that the only reason Yoongi was having this conversation at all was because you were the one that asked him to. He settled on something vaguely truthful.

Yoongi [18:37]: fuck off, joonie. since i’m bringing someone special and i want you to meet her.

The reply was immediate and three-fold:

Namjoon [18:37]: Call me Joonie again and see what happens 🤔 Namjoon [18:37]: Wear jeans in case I gotta chase you down for that. For real, though, it’s casual. Namjoon [18:37]: Also 👀

Yoongi shoved his phone back in his pocket without bothering to reply. He wouldn’t know what to say if he did, anyway. You weren’t the kind of person he knew how to summarize in a quick text; so he’d have to let your presence speak for itself. It always did.

When he looked back up from his hands, you reappeared in the closet doorway in a flouncy little dress. He had to stop himself from asking if you’d wear it to his funeral when he inevitably dropped dead. Once he succeeded at that, he swallowed thickly and focused on the two pairs of shoes you were holding, one in each hand.

Your face scrunched up while you mulled over your options. Without looking up, you asked absently and borderline shyly, “Did he respond?”

It took a beat for Yoongi’s brain to catch up; sundress season truly was the silent killer. In the pause, your inquisitive eyes flicked up to see if he’d simply ignored your question. He fumbled, pointed to the chunky, heeled sandals in your left hand, and then shot you a thumbs-up.

You rolled your eyes with a snort and knelt down to slip into his choice without further comment. As you did, you triple-checked that the ankle strap was secured and Yoongi didn’t have to guess why: the last time you wore them out, you hadn’t buckled yourself in properly. The thick tread had snagged on a curb; and your shoe didn’t come with you when you stepped up onto the sidewalk. You waited on one leg, the other foot bare in the wind, while Yoongi returned to the street to grab what you’d lost.

When you finished your ministrations, you stood back up to your full height — now with fifteen added centimeters — and brushed your hands against the back of your dress’ skirt. The expression on your face was somewhere between exhilarated and vaguely nauseous.

You clapped your hands together suddenly and sighed, “We doing this, Yoongs?”

He rolled his eyes so you wouldn’t get the wrong idea. He was endeared by that stupid nickname but unwilling to let you know as much. Still, he followed when you led him out of your bedroom; when you grabbed a laughably tiny and arguably useless purse off your hallway console table; and when you skipped out of your front door.

“Who’s driving?” Yoongi glanced over his shoulder at you as he hit the lock button on your door’s keypad. He didn’t need to ask — you had the alcohol tolerance of a newborn baby and couldn’t assume the wheel after more than two drinks — but he knew it made you feel better when he did.

Sheepishly, you pursed your lips.

He sighed with a microscopic grin, “Garage gate wouldn’t open, so I’m on the side of the building.” Then, he shuffled towards the elevator with you in tow. Even with the added height of your shoes, your short legs still struggled to keep up with his pace. 

As soon as the elevator doors re-opened on the ground floor, you threaded your arm around his and handcuffed him to you with your elbow bent. Before he could make a joke at your expense, you raised a manicured finger and said, “Do not start with me, Min Yoongi.”

So, he didn’t. He simply opened his passenger door for you and closed it once you’d slid into your usual place. As soon as he slid into his and pressed the start button, your phone automatically hooked to his Bluetooth stereo; and he couldn’t even whine about that fact because you’d already queued up some song he’d never heard in a language neither of you knew well. True to form, you didn’t let that stop you from singing along as loudly as you could — all the way to the venue.

It didn’t take long for Yoongi to find a spot or to parallel park in it, much to your amazement. It did, however, take ten minutes of silent sitting for either of you to say a word.

“Do we have to go in there?” you asked, damn near inaudibly. 

Where you sat, your left knee bounced at a speed almost imperceptible to the human eye. Yoongi only noticed because his knee was doing the same. He exhaled the breath he’d unknowingly held hostage and glanced at the time displayed on his car’s touch screen. He grimaced. “Shit started an hour ago. How much do you wanna bet that we’re still the first people here?”

You unbuckled your seatbelt. “Even if we are,” you started as you pushed open the passenger side door, “I’m not waiting to start the clock until guest number three arrives.” You shot him a pointed look as you slid out of the car. Adjusting your dress once you’d made it to your feet, you added, “One hour of kissing hands and shaking babies, then we’re out of here, right?”

Yoongi clamped his mouth shut, but it did nothing to ward off the laughter that made his shoulders shake. He nodded firmly, let his feet hit the pavement, then let his car door shut behind him.

“Compensatory lamb skewers, as usual?” He asked once he rounded the back of the car to join you on the sidewalk. On instinct, you threaded your arm through his to keep yourself on your feet, and your feet in your shoes. “But not from that place you picked last time. I’m ninety-nine-percent sure they clean it with a garden hose at night.”

You grumbled something about never being allowed to pick the restaurant before reaching for the door handle and petulantly jerking it open.

The second your respective feet stepped over the threshold, you both froze. It was the social equivalent of rigor mortis, the pair of you standing with locked limbs and gawking at the sheer number of people inside the hole-in-the-wall venue Namjoon had chosen. Clearly, he’d intended this to be as quaint as possible. Even more obviously, management hadn’t given a shit or fuck about that goal.

“This is,” you inhaled deeply as if you’d never get the chance again, and on the exhale, you wheezed, “So much. Oh my god.”

No matter how many times his shaking eyes scanned over the crowd ahead, Yoongi couldn’t find a single person he recognized, let alone wanted to spend an hour talking to. He snapped to look at you in the same moment you turned to him.

“What an hour this minute has been.”

“Lamb skewers?”

“Yes, please.”

Just as quickly as you’d entered, the pair of you turned to head out the door. Yoongi couldn’t grab the handle before a loud voice rang out from behind, “Hyung!”

A hand clapped Yoongi on the shoulder, spinning him around and leaving his emergency exit out of reach.

“So glad to see a familiar face,” Namjoon’s grin took up his whole face, but his mouth didn’t move with his words. They were forced out through gritted teeth, pleading the way his eyes were: If you leave me here, I’ll kill you.

Yoongi glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. He would’ve asked you — not with words, anyway — to make up some excuse to get you both out of there, to grab take-out and watch Naruto on his couch, but you couldn’t answer. Your starry-eyed gaze was aimed above you, and he’d venture a guess that everyone in the room had disappeared.

Everyone but Namjoon.

Damn it.

Somewhere, somehow, Yoongi heard a record scratch.

“Oh, shit,” Yoongi coughed, suddenly aware of his obligation as a mutual friend. Gesturing languidly between you and Namjoon, Yoongi reported for duty. “Joon, this is —”

Namjoon finally seemed to realize that you were standing there with Yoongi. He tilted his head to look down at you, and as soon as he did, Yoongi watched in slow motion as Namjoon’s eyes grew three times their usual size. Your name barely cleared Yoongi’s lips before Namjoon was extending a hand for you to shake.

Somewhere, somehow, the music seemed to swell.

Am I having a stroke?

The next minute that passed felt like an hour, too, and nobody said a word. It was you looking at Namjoon; Namjoon looking at you; and Yoongi’s eyes flitting back and forth between his friends with a kind of bemusement he couldn’t fake if his life depended on it. He’d crashed-landed in the middle of a drama, and he didn’t know what else to do, so he cleared his throat and said, “Uhh — shots, anyone?”

The next hour flew by in sixty seconds, and Yoongi couldn’t wrap his brain around how that could be. He’d lost faith in the concept of linear time, he knew that much. The two people he sat next to were meeting for the first time, but there was a familiarity present that he couldn’t put a finger on. Like you were both saying hello in this life after saying goodbye in a previous one.

Throughout the conversation, Yoongi couldn’t keep his attention on the words being tossed back and forth; not even the ones he was offering up. Huh, he thought, so, this is what it looks like when people meet who they’re meant to.

“Listen —” You smacked your hand down on the tabletop, swallowing down a laugh as you faked incredulousness. You pointed directly at Yoongi, causing him to choke on his whiskey. “I don’t care if I have to read translations on an app, Nas’ lyricism is unparalleled —”

“Facts,” Namjoon chimed in with a tip of his glass. 

The way your eyes sparkled in response wasn’t lost on anyone.

Yoongi rolled his. “Okay, but from a production standpoint, we all know that —”

Simultaneously, you and Namjoon sucked in breaths. The arguments you let loose didn’t match in words, but the sentiment was the same, downright seismic in its intensity.

“Don’t you dare bring Kanye West into this!”

“Hyung, I swear to God, if the next name out of your mouth is Kanye West, I’m leaving my own fucking party.”

The eldest raised his hands defensively. “Fine, fine, fine,” he conceded. Yoongi slumped a little lower in his chair, accepting defeat. He glanced down at his phone to check the time — as if that wasn’t a lost cause — and when he looked up again, you and Namjoon had deviated down some winding tangent about the core of hip-hop being poetry.

It was odd, the way Yoongi’s stomach flipped then. Not jealousy, but fondness. Hunger, too, though that was secondary to the weird glimmer of pride he felt watching a bridge he’d unknowingly built link two spheres of his life together. There was a strange sense of clarity, to top it all off; one that changed all the question marks in his head to periods.

You and Yoongi would be friends. 

Yoongi would be at peace with that fact. 

The slightly sweaty hand that pulled you through that event wouldn’t be his; and he would be at peace with that, too.

Yoongi would grab lamb skewers on his way home and wait for your call tomorrow to hear how the rest of your night had gone without him.

With a signature, flat-line smile, Yoongi slid off his stool and slid his empty glass towards the bartender. Then, he clapped a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. The younger stopped mid-sentence with a start and blinked up at Yoongi, whose smirk immediately dropped, deadpan.

He glanced at you and confirmed that you were too busy ordering another drink to overhear. Then, he leaned down towards Namjoon and whispered, “Don’t fuck this up, Joonie.”

Namjoon gulped. Yoongi could hear it as he turned away, letting that smirk reappear once his back was to Namjoon.

He won’t.

2020/7/18; 21:06

Namjoon’s face hurt.

There was a telltale ache in his cheeks that confirmed it: he hadn’t smiled that much, that completely, in a long damn time. At the rate things had gone over the last two hours, he wouldn’t be surprised to catch his reflection in the bathroom mirror and find wrinkles demarcating just how crinkled his eyes had been. It was a wonder he’d been able to see you at all with the way his laughter leaked over his lash lines. Then again, your grin was burned into his brain already. Given the way you lit up, he was convinced that he’d see you — just you — even in the dark.

“Stop laughing at me!” you whined with your hand covering your mouth. Though you tried to hide it, Namjoon could still see you grinning, even with your mouth full. “I feel very attacked.”

He snorted. “Not an attack, just an observation. Can’t say I’ve ever witnessed someone order a beverage they don’t like just to eat the garnish.”

Quickly, you skewered another blackberry with the end of your straw and guided it under the hand covering your mouth. When you placed the straw back in your drink, the fruit was gone; your eyes were sparkling.

“Are you just jealous that you’ve never thought to do it?” You tilted your head to the side as you chewed. The little flex of your eyebrows made his stomach flip, so he swallowed hard and wondered if you noticed.

“Honestly,” he started with a sigh. He slumped down in his seat, looking as pathetic as possible while he eyed the remaining fruit in your glass. “Yeah. Little heartbroken, too.”

“Oh?” You pouted and Namjoon was on the brink of passing the fuck out.

The hand over your mouth dropped. You shifted on top of your stool, grabbed hold of your blackberry malt, and leaned in as you scooted it across the bar to Namjoon. The smile tugging at your lips was petal soft, though the flash of bright white teeth hit him like high-beams. He was a deer; he was frozen; and he didn’t give a shit if you ran right over him.

Elbows against the bar, you leaned even further. This time, when you tilted your head to the side, your hair gave way and left your bare shoulder in his line of sight. For the first time in his life, Namjoon finally understood why something as innocuous as a short-sleeve or exposed ankle was deemed pornographic a century prior. In the year 2020, he was losing his mind over an acromioclavicular joint and some — smooth, touchably soft — flesh.

“Because I haven’t offered to share?”

Jesus Christ.

He was seconds away from biting down on his fist to keep from groaning. That coquettish, candy-coated voice of yours was a problem in and of itself, but when you looked at him from under your lashes like that, Namjoon was ready to call in a bomb threat to his own party. He couldn’t simply fuck off with you, though — not without an excuse he could sell to Bang Si-Hyuk later.

Namjoon needed an out, now. Unfortunately for him, all he could think about was biting down on that shoulder, following the curve of it with his —

He needed to get a grip. Fast.

Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat. “Exactly. Rude.”

You smirked; he winked. To keep his mouth occupied, Namjoon grabbed the spare straw from your drink and speared a blackberry for himself. Holding his prize out in salute, he nodded his head with a smirk of his own. “Geonbae!”

You smiled sweetly again as you watched him pluck the fruit off the end of the straw with his teeth; but you grinned with all you had when the whiskey-drenched berry hit his taste buds like a punch. Sour, unbelievably potent after steeping so long high-proof liquor. Every part of him clenched at once, prompting you to laugh with your whole chest.

What a perfect fucking sound.

“Shit,” Namjoon sputtered. His face unpuckered and gave way to a grin that likely rivaled yours.

“How are you not tanked right now? Seriously, I’m twice your size and can handle my liquor. That —” He waved his hand towards your glass, “— nearly knocked me on my ass.”

You opened your mouth to respond — to tease him mercilessly, he hoped — but you were cut off by the horrendous sound of Namjoon’s phone vibrating against the bar and his own empty glass. The cacophony rattled in his rib cage. Both of you flinched at the sudden interruption, leaving him to wonder if you also forgot that anyone else existed.

Namjoon glanced quickly at the illuminated screen, then back up to you. He would’ve ignored his texts in a heartbeat — indefinitely, without hesitation — but you squeezed his hand as you slipped off your stool to your feet. With your promise that you were headed to the restroom and would be right back, he gave himself permission to look back down at his phone.

Yoongi [21:43]: you tell her about that comet thing? she’s an unrelenting nerd like you. she’ll be into it.

If he could have, he would’ve kissed Yoongi through the phone for two reasons. The first of which was that, in the time he’d spent talking to you, Namjoon had completely forgotten about the one thing he’d talked about incessantly for the past month: the upcoming appearance of Neowise. The second was that, once again, Yoongi had come in clutch with a reason to bail on a social obligation.

Namjoon [21:45]: You’re a lifesaver and I love you. Yoongi [21:46]: ew

Namjoon was still chuckling when, unexpectedly, he felt playful fingertips trail across his shoulder blades. You, he quickly realized as you walked behind him and sat back down on your stool. He shivered, even after the trace of your touch was gone.

“All good?” you asked with a soft smile.

Yeah, he thought, really fucking good.

Namjoon grinned automatically. He picked up the spare straw he’d used earlier and harpooned another blackberry, not having learned his lesson last time. The whiskey hit his tongue, burned beautifully on the way down, and emboldened him.

Without hesitation, he asked, “Do you wanna get out of here? There’s something I want to show you.”

Your wide eyes blinked back at him, then they scanned the room to confirm that, yes, it was still packed with people — up to and including executives from the label. Yes, he did just offer to ditch all of them for you, consequences be damned.

“Yes,” you responded, as if that was the easiest decision you’d ever made.

Namjoon got to his feet and held out his hand to you. “Not afraid of heights, are you?” His smirk all but dissolved when your fingers interlocked with his.

“Not if the fall would be worth it.”

He didn’t know what to say in response to that statement — one so simple, made so easily as if it was a thought you repeated to yourself often. You’d stunned him, really, and Namjoon was uncharacteristically lost for words. So, you both fell into a comfortable silence as he led you out of the venue, ignoring every wayward stare on the way out. 

Even after he opened his passenger door for you and slipped himself behind the wheel, he couldn’t get over what you’d said. It took root in the back of his brain. In all the years he’d been in this industry, he’d determined that there were only two types of people: the ones who jumped without thinking and the ones who only ever did the latter. You, it seemed, were neither.

Not if the fall would be worth it.

As he drove, you hummed along to whatever played on the radio, gaze taking in the city lights. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the neon from roadside signs wash over your face as they passed. Pretty in all colors, he thought, in every light.

Five minutes passed before he realized that you hadn’t even asked where he was taking you. Maybe you’d made an assumption that you were headed back to his place, which, while true, still wasn’t entirely accurate. Or maybe you simply trusted him. Determined that he was one of those calculated risks worth taking.

Namjoon was warm all-over when he finally reached his parking garage and turned into his assigned space. By the time he rounded the back of his car to open your door for you, you were already standing and smoothing down the skirt of your dress.

God bless sundress season.

“Didn’t realize you were a fan of his work.”

He froze. Oh, fuck. 

Swallowing down the embarrassment of broadcasting his thoughts out loud, Namjoon shrugged. The corner of his mouth twitched, threatening to ruin his nonchalance. “Credit where it’s due, you know?” 

He then glanced down at his watch and confirmed that he was running out of time. When he looked back up at you, you were visibly puzzled but you didn’t question him. So, he questioned you:

“You didn’t develop a fear of heights on the drive over, right? Fall still worth it?”

Your response didn’t come in words. To his surprise, you held out your hand and stared expectantly — sweetly — at him until he took it. 

You didn’t have the key code to operate the elevator or any idea where you were headed, but you tugged Namjoon along after you as you crossed the parking garage. It was then that he noticed the sheer height of the shoes you were wearing and how carefully you moved in them. Not like heels were foreign to you, but with deliberate steps as if you expected one or both of them to make a break for it. He made a mental note of it.

After typing in his access code to summon the elevator, Namjoon gazed down at you. Trying to hide his smile again would’ve been an exercise in futility, so he didn’t bother. Without thinking first, he mused, “You know, you still haven’t asked where I’m taking you. That’s a lot of trust.”

“I mean, if my untimely end comes at the hands of Kim Namjoon of all people, my ghost will have a really interesting story to tell.” 

Your snicker made his knees wobble. You stepped into the elevator as it opened, leaving him to stand starstruck outside the doors. 

“Coming?”

When Namjoon finally regained use of his limbs and joined you in the elevator, he pressed the button for the top floor, overshooting his own by three. With every second that passed as the two of you ascended, the centimeters slipped away — overcome by what Namjoon could only assume was a gravitational pull. 

He’d orbit you if he could.

“This way,” Namjoon instructed. He gestured to the door at the end of the hall with a sign that promised roof access.

You stayed close, your hand so near to his that he could’ve grabbed it and held it a thousand times before you reached your objective. He held the door for you and watched you duck under his arm as you stepped through, damn near salivating at the way your perfume lingered in your wake.

The door in question opened to something halfway between an exposed patio and a fire escape. If Namjoon had to venture a guess, none of the other residents knew this place existed; it was exclusively for maintenance staff who needed to access the electrical meters contained in the locked room in front of you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at it, understandably struggling to figure out why Namjoon had brought you to a place like this.

Sensing your confusion, he nodded his head towards a steep metal staircase which led up to the building’s roof. Staircase was a generous description, really. The only difference between those steps and a ladder was the presence of handrails and a slightly more forgiving angle.

When you caught sight of them, your confusion dissolved into surprise. You paused. Anxious eyes darted down to your heels as you shifted your weight from one to the other.

Weighing your options, Namjoon figured. Bare feet or twisted ankles. 

He offered a third and crouched down in front of you, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “Coming?” He quoted.

You looked at him in disbelief, like he couldn’t possibly be offering to take you up those steps on piggy-back — but he was, and he was dead serious. He said as much, and you had to bite down on your lips to keep your shy smile to yourself. As had been the case all night, your reciprocal offer was intrinsic trust.

Once you secured yourself on his back, you looped your arms gently around his neck. A quiet giggle immediately flooded his ears. Namjoon peeked at your face hovering over his shoulder and smiled when he saw that you were, too. Your laugh was music, more than anything else.

“This feels like that scene in Twilight.”

Because Namjoon has a sister, he automatically knew what you were referring to, as embarrassing as that was to admit. It was worth it, though, when he bought into your bit. You beamed like the fucking sun when he warned, “Hold on tight, spider monkey.”

He kept one hand on the railing and the other secured over your crossed forearms as he took the steps slowly. When none were left, it was just you, Namjoon, and an uninterrupted expanse of orange and pink. 

“Holy shit,” you gasped, squeezing his bicep.

He took your silent cue and ducked back down so you could return to your own two feet. 

“Beautiful, right?” Namjoon kept his voice low as if he were in a place of worship. 

In a way, he was.

You wobbled, not because of your shoes, but because you were staring straight up, spinning slowly in your spot while you drank in a fleeting, tangerine sky. As the sun continued to sink, bright white stars popped up to take its place. You seemed intent on counting them, but they couldn’t hold Namjoon’s attention — not with you fawning underneath them.

“Reminds me of home, kind of.” You matched his tone like this mattered as much to you as it did to him. “The buildings are always in the way here. After a while, I stopped bothering to look up.”

It felt natural, the way you reached out for his hand to keep you tethered. The same was true when he tugged gently and pulled you closer. You tucked yourself under his arm, nestled into his side. There was heat rising from his chest to his cheeks, but he still shivered.

Trying to keep his focus on the point of all this, Namjoon glanced down at his watch to confirm that the sun’s interference would be gone within minutes. Softly, he dropped his arm so he could place his hands on your waist. You let him turn you until you stood with your back to him; then, you followed his pointed finger with your eyes.

“Keep your eyes on the Northwest, alright?”

Playfully defiant, you turned your head to smirk up at him instead. “I’m admittedly shit at directions.”

Namjoon wouldn’t have noticed if the stars above him disappeared. For all he knew, they’d relocated to the dilated black of your pupils. There was a hint of a challenge twinkling there, too. He wasn’t known for backing down.

“This is the southeast.” Namjoon covered his fondness with a feigned frown and tapped your left hip bone with the pads of his middle and ring fingers. “The sun’s behind you.”

“I know it is,” you acknowledged. Despite that fact, you were still gazing over your shoulder at him. 

Oh. 

His eyes widened when he caught your meaning; yours crinkled at the corners. Namjoon didn’t have a single clue how you could smile that warmly without using your mouth at all.

It’s decided, he thought. Wherever this night takes us, I’m down for the ride. You lead, I’ll follow.

There was a distinct drop in his body temperature when you eventually — belatedly — followed his directions. Instinctively, Namjoon pulled you even closer so he could properly wrap his arms around your waist. Your shoulder blades pressed into his chest as he leaned down to your ear.

This time, you shivered.

“See that up ahead? Under the Big Dipper.”

You were quiet for a moment, likely searching for whatever secret he was pointing out to you. There was no room for doubt when you finally did see it because you gasped for the second time. 

Breathless, you asked, “What is that? A meteor?”

Now visible against inky black, Neowise burned on the horizon. 

“A comet,” he gently corrected you. “A new one — well, one we didn’t know about until March. It’s just now coming out of perihelion.”

At the forefront, its bright white mass led a slow charge down the sun’s gravity well. The tail was smeared behind it as if someone had dragged a paintbrush through the cosmos. Once-in-a-lifetime wasn’t scientifically accurate; and heavenly felt pretentious. Namjoon couldn’t think of a word in any language to describe the way he felt in that moment, but he prayed it would last.

You were equally awestruck. For a while, it was simple, silent wonderment as the two of you kept your eyes on the horizon. Peaceful, despite the faint blare of car horns wafting upwards from the streets below. Namjoon might venture far enough to call it perfect.

“What happens now?” You eventually asked. He glanced down at you when your voice cut through quiet, though your starry eyes didn’t register his movement. Thoroughly transfixed, you stayed still.

Namjoon felt himself frown. The answer was scientific fact, but it sounded like an unhappy ending. 

Like leaving. 

“Aphelion,” he sighed. “It’s headed for the point in its orbit that’s farthest from the sun. All that light you see right now comes from gas made by solar heat, so… it’ll grow colder the farther away it gets. Then, it’ll get so dark that it’ll be more or less invisible.”

You repeated that word quietly to yourself like you were testing the weight of it in your mouth. Aphelion. There was an undeniable heaviness to it. Namjoon wondered if you felt it, too.

He continued, “Not sure if or when it’ll ever be like this again.”

2020/7/18; 23:12

If you could have, you likely would’ve stayed on that rooftop until morning. 

The back of your dress would be even dirtier from sitting down on the concrete the way you had; and your elbows may ache a little more after additional time spent leaning back onto flattened palms, but it’d be a small price to pay. Calm like that was invaluable. Until you stared at that uninterrupted sky, talking through every thought you’d ever had with someone who understood them all, calm like that was foreign to you.

You never had the opportunity to sit still, much less settle. Never got to be quiet, never got to linger. On that rooftop, you received a necessary reminder that your universe was bigger than a schedule full of obligations. Bigger than hotel showers, each less user-friendly than the last. Bigger than drinking boba tea alone in an airport, letting life carry you like a dandelion seed all over the map. 

It was endless.

You wished that moment had been, but the news helicopter hovering nearby had said otherwise. As it turned out, television coverage of the comet was more important than your personal enjoyment of it. The loud chop of propellers against air had been bad enough; the gusts of wind those propellers kicked your way were even worse.

Even though he’d been sitting right next to you, Namjoon had to shout for you to hear him. You’d squinted as if that would make sense of the shapes his mouth had made — it didn’t. You’d heard his voice but not his words.

I need to learn to read lips, you’d thought. The problem with that realization was that the harder you’d focused on his, the more you wanted to nibble on them. And then the urgency you’d felt no longer had anything whatsoever to do with the aircraft. You hadn’t gotten the message until Namjoon stood up and offered his hands to help you stand, too.

Through the climb back down to the door, the walk up the hallway, and the elevator ride to his floor, Namjoon hadn’t dropped your hand. Now, it was taking longer than you imagined was usual for him to unlock his apartment door because the thumb of his dominant hand was still roaming over the back of yours.

“Finally!” 

His sigh was half-exasperated, half-relieved, all swoonworthy when the key — at long last — did what he’d been begging it to do. Namjoon pushed the door open. This time, neither of you had to urge the other to come along.

The second your shoes crossed the threshold into his apartment, you damn near crumpled on the ground they occupied.

Holy shit —?

Less of an apartment and more of an archive, Namjoon’s space was artfully curated. In the literal sense. Everywhere you looked, there was some painting, some exquisite sculpture. All of it was breathtaking — and shockingly breakable, which made you wonder how they’d survived ownership by someone so endearingly clumsy.

He chuckled sheepishly when he saw the way you gawked, open-mouthed, at his collection.

“You didn’t tell me you lived in a museum!” You were dizzy. “I swear, you’re going to have to get security to escort me out at closing time. I’ll stand, and ponder, and muse all day; and I’ll never leave.”

In hindsight, that sounded more like a threat than a warning.

Suddenly rushing so that you could explore more fully, you moved to bend down and undo the ankle straps of your heels. That was, coincidentally, the moment Namjoon attempted to address his own shoes. Your heads collided with a thud that made you both hiss and retract.

“You good?” Namjoon frowned apologetically. As he did, he lifted his hand to run his fingers gingerly over the bump likely forming on the crown of your head. You were too busy vibrating to do much more than nod.

Is one touch all it takes? This doesn’t bode well for you.

As if his goal was to kill you where you stood, he dropped his hand slowly, caressing the side of your jaw with his knuckle and a touch that was barely there. Deep brown eyes smoldered as they focused on you. Then, that husky voice completed the attack combination.

Knock out! Game over!

He tapped your chin with the pad of his thumb and said, “Stay here.”

As if you’d want to be anywhere else.

Before you could wrap your brain around the turn of events, Namjoon knelt in front of you. His right foot remained planted on the ground, leaving his thigh parallel overtop. Thank god for his black jeans. If you drooled at the sight of his quadricep straining against the denim, no trace would be left.

Knees wobbling, you followed his cue and shifted your weight to one foot. The other was guided up to rest against his thigh so he could address the ankle strap for you.

Is your mouth hanging open? Why is it so dry?

Your body shouldn’t have clenched the way it did at something so innocuous. Really, he was being polite. Self-preserving after your eagerness nearly left him concussed. But he must have heard your heart hammering against the wall of your chest because he looked up at you and — no, there was nothing polite about the way his eyes trailed over your body.

Nothing innocuous about his low voice wrapped in velvet saying, “You look like an angel when you look down at me like that.”

It was a miracle that you didn’t break skin with the way you pinched your bottom lip between your teeth.

You must have blacked out after the first shoe was discarded; you weren’t mentally present to notice the other one’s removal. When your soul re-entered your body, Namjoon was back to standing at full height — and he was significantly taller now that you stood barefoot on his doormat.

Incapable of eloquence, you simply peeped, “Hi.”

Either you were going insane, or there really was a faint buzz of electricity humming in the few centimeters between Namjoon’s body and yours. Something was conducting through every nerve of your body, tingling.

“Hi.”

His little half-smile made your stomach flip. You didn’t know what to say next because the only thought in your head was something between a prayer and a plea.

kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me

When the tip of his tongue broke through the seam of his lips to wet them, the only conclusion you could draw was that he’d read your mind. He didn’t listen, but the glint in his darkening eyes confirmed it: Namjoon knew exactly what you wanted and he was holding back. Instead of his mouth, he gave you his hand. 

Not bad for a consolation prize. 

His fingers slotted between yours like they were the reason those spaces existed in the first place. 

That’s the thing about magnets — they attract what they’re meant to. You didn’t need to look for him to find him. Unpaired electron that you were, you knew it intrinsically when someone was spinning in the same direction you were. Even though it’d been the furthest thing from your mind in every moment leading to the present, you couldn’t deny it now: 

You found someone that clicked.

There was static sparking in the air when Namjoon led you from the foyer into the living room. Every breath was charged, even the one that caught in your chest when you saw the full extent of his collection.

“I feel like I’m walking barefoot through the Met,” You hummed, eyes flitting from portrait to portrait. Traditional, contemporary, modern — all of it chosen thoughtfully and displayed the same way. “What’s it like to live in it?”

He paused and you paused with him. He looked shy for the first time all night. “Like I’m not alone with my thoughts, if that makes sense?”

Perfect sense.

“You’re not coming home to an empty apartment if you’ve got a piece of Yoo Youngkuk’s mind on the walls.” You gestured with your free hand  to a painting hanging to your right. It filled the otherwise neutral space with bright blues, greens, and yellows. “Gotta have some enrichment in the enclosure, or the fishbowl we live and work in will drive us crazy.”

When you glanced back at Namjoon — who was silent and completely still — he looked as if your words had punched him in the chest. Not like he was in pain, but as if the wind had been knocked right out of him. He was silent, though his mouth was slightly parted, and he blinked slowly back at you. You didn’t know what that look in his eyes meant, but it was a far cry from the lust in them before you started rambling.

Now, you had to worry about whether you’d offended him somehow. Fuck. You’d done it again, piggy-backed off someone’s statement to add the two cents no one asked for. Have you ever kept a single thought to yourself? 

You quickly pointed to a different painting.

This one, unlike the abstract pieces you’d examined so far, was earth tones in oil paints. Sitting in the center was a young woman in white, staring down at her bare feet as if one of them had stepped on something sharp.

“What’s her story?” You asked.

Namjoon cleared his throat to reactivate the vocal cords you’d seemingly paralyzed earlier. “That’s Eurydice on her wedding day. She married Orpheus, if his name rings any bells.”

It doesn’t.

“She got bit by a snake on her wedding night, which is — uhh, admittedly not ideal.” Namjoon visibly struggled to hide his smirk when you snorted in response. He continued, “She died, which is even worse, but Orpheus went to the underworld to save her.”

“Did he?”

Namjoon grimaced. “Orpheus was not great with rules.”

“Did Orpheus leave his own reception to chase a woman?” You teased with a raise of your eyebrow.

You watched his eyes darken in real time. Viper quick, he tugged at the hand he never let go of and led you right back to him. To keep yourself from colliding fully with his chest, your free palm flattened against it. His pulse raced at your touch, but you couldn’t pay attention to anything other than the searing warmth radiating off of him.

“I suppose he did.” He leaned down, nose tip nearly bumping yours. “There’s an important distinction here, though.”

Namjoon’s hand left yours, lifted up to rest with his fingers under your jaw and his thumb above it. You were sure that your shallow, useless breaths were fanning over his chin, given how close in proximity his mouth was to yours. His breath hit your lips and left them tingling.

The best you could do was whisper, “And what would that be, Namjoon?”

“Orpheus went home empty-handed.”

You didn’t mean to growl in response the way you did, but he’d awakened something feral in you, and there was no turning back. No caging it in. Just your hands gripping tight to his shirt, pulling him down to kiss you the way you wished he had hours ago. That was primal, too. All teeth and tongue with his fingers threading through your hair, and —

And he laughed. 

His shoulders shook just enough for you to notice. It was the quickened exhale of breath through his nose that gave him away, more than anything else.

“Is something funny?” You questioned him when you pulled back breathless. His eyes were crinkled, swimming with mirth. 

Tease. 

You and your now-unoccupied lips changed targets, dipping down to assault the exposed underside of his jaw. Mumbling against his skin, you urged, “Share with the class.”

He opened his mouth, and for a moment, he seemed to be on the brink of answering. Whatever words he might have found were lost again in an instant when your teeth nipped playfully where his neck met his shoulder.

“All those blackberries you ate — oh, fuck.” Namjoon groaned, even more so when your tongue flicked over the faint indents you’d left behind.

After leaving an opened-mouth kiss on his collarbone, you looked up at him from under a curtain of lashes. His head was thrown back, but he sensed your stare; half-lidded eyes fluttered down at you, transfixed. It was a look you felt everywhere, downright pulsing as it shot straight to your core.

You weren’t ready for the hands in your hair to migrate, and that fact was made abundantly clear by the tiny gasp he stole from you in the process. He reveled in it; the corner of his mouth twitched triumphantly upwards. His left hand resettled on your hip while the knuckles of his right hand brushed over the space just below your belly button.

Namjoon must’ve known he had you spellbound because his smirk was full-fledged when he pinched the fabric of your dress between his fingers. Gently, he tugged what he’d claimed, causing the hem to flutter against the tops of your thighs. You were left damn near liquified. More puddle than person, dripping dizzy under such a torturously soft touch.

He didn’t know you were kerosene until he struck the match.

“If your kiss tastes like blackberries...” He trailed off, head tilting to the side. His right hand dropped further. It hovered, red hot, just millimeters away from your core. “How sweet is the rest of you?”

You erupted in flames when his fingertips finally made contact with your clothed cunt. Clenching your desperate thighs together did nothing to extinguish the blaze, nor did the arousal that slicked the innermost parts of them. Swallowing down the whimper building in your chest, you did your best to keep cool. 

Eyebrow arched, you whispered, “Asking questions won’t get you answers, Namjoon. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

The intention might’ve been to wind up in his bedroom at the opposite end of his apartment, but the execution was short-sighted. The farthest your lip-locked staggering got you was the adjoining, open kitchen — more specifically, the kitchen island. The chilled, marble countertop forced a hiss out through your teeth when the undersides of your legs settled on it. With Namjoon’s hands scorching the tops of your bare thighs, though, you were far from frozen.

Fingers raking through his hair, you let him kiss you stupid — until you couldn’t remember how it felt not to. Whiskey-laced and wanting, you licked into his mouth with a stifled whimper and came to two irrefutable conclusions. They spun pirouettes in your brain as his fingernails scratched up your thighs and under the hem of your dress.

Kim Namjoon was made to be kissed.

Up, up, up, his hands moved slowly until you felt his index fingers hook over the waistband of your underwear. He didn’t have to ask for your help; automatically and eagerly, you dropped your hands until your palms flattened against the countertop and lifted your hips. Down your thighs, off your ankles, tossed carelessly over his shoulder, gone — accomplished with his bottom lip kept as a souvenir between your teeth.

Kim Namjoon tastes like blackberries, too.

He was panting when he finally broke away. Large hands slid under your knees and pulled you forward. Now sitting at the very edge of the counter with Namjoon’s body between your thighs, you could feel him throbbing behind too-tight jeans. You were seconds away from reaching out to touch him, but he was the quicker draw.

The tip of his middle finger slid through your folds, wading through the slick that had pooled there. He moved slowly from the button of your clit to your entrance. That teasing filled your head with static and the silence with obscenity: you cursing under your breath as your forehead dropped to rest against his shoulder; you gushing, though he’d barely begun to touch you.

“All for me?” He hummed. Namjoon’s eyes were locked on your face, as if he was collecting mental snapshots of the fucked-out expression he’d put there. “Sweet thing.”

His lips connected with the underside of your jaw in the exact moment his digit finally slipped inside of you. You were sure he felt the way your mouth fell open, even if neither of you heard your breath catching in your throat. It didn’t take much effort on his part to coax it out of you, though; just a few slow pumps, and then you were whimpering near his ear.

You had to rely on your arm around his neck to keep you tethered. If you let go, you weren’t sure where you’d end up — floating off to join Neowise in its orbit, or crashing down into a heap at Namjoon’s feet. But then he added his ring finger, and you clung to him so tightly that you might’ve wound up in his rib cage instead.

“Oh, s-shit,” you keened as his fingers curled upwards. He’d found his target and attacked it slowly, forcing you to walk towards your orgasm rather than sprint — the way you needed to. The way you were willing to beg for. “Namjoon, please. I n—”

You felt the curve of his smirk against your skin. Before you could finish asking, he murmured low in your ear, “Say less, beautiful.”

The kiss he placed on your temple was the last thing you remember before his increased pace lit the fuse waiting deep in your abdomen. His thumb pressed against your clit, winding quick spirals, and he didn’t let up until he blew your mind sky-high.

When the smoke cleared and your pieces fell back into place, you had to blink to get the stars out of your eyes. “You should’ve warned me,” you panted. Namjoon was puzzled, which only made you beam. “You didn’t strike me as the dexterous type.”

The feigned shock on his face didn’t stick for long; it was quickly replaced by a shit-eating grin that made you tingle for an entirely different reason.

“These hands are good for two things, and two things only.”

You snorted, flexed an expectant eyebrow. “Breaking shot glasses, and…?”

Namjoon shook his head. His fingers were still shining with your orgasm when he brought them to his lips. It was ridiculous how he could still look pensive with you dripping down to his knuckles.

“Making you cum, first and foremost,” he corrected you matter-of-factly, like it was an undeniable truth dictated in one of the many books you’d seen littered around his apartment — and really, it should’ve been. 

He took those glistening fingers into his mouth to clean you off of him; you couldn’t look away from his tongue as it ran down their length. You swallowed hard when he did. Then, he released them with a lewd pop that made you clench around nothing. “And making you cum again.”

You rolled your eyes, as if you weren’t still irreparably charmed by him. Namjoon bit back a grin, like he didn’t already know.

“My hypothesis may be confirmed, by the way,” he mused.

The magnetism you’d felt earlier brought him back to you again. His arms snaked around your waist so easily that you had to remind yourself — over and over — that they were strangers to you, not a home. That this was adrenaline; this was infatuation; this was one night.

You hummed in response, “Is it?”

It felt like home when Namjoon kissed you, softness laced with eagerness. Or like wax pooling on an envelope, the deed now signed and sealed.

“I’ll have to re-run the experiment, of course. Scientific method and all that.” He waved his hand, as if this was obvious. Yours landed a playful swat on his bicep that only deepened the dimple at the corner of his smile. He kissed you again and you let him. Lips still flush to yours, he mumbled, “Your pussy may be even sweeter.”

2020/7/19; 01:04

You should’ve been exhausted. Your social battery — and your physical battery — should’ve been depleted. You, an introvert and a homebody, should’ve been halfway to sleep in your own bed by now, in your own clothes. 

When you left your apartment all those hours ago, you were already prepared to hibernate for twice as long as you’d spent on the outside. That was the way it always worked. A plan you never deviated from; one you never wanted to. But you’d been firmly rooted in the moment — every moment — since you arrived at that party, and you hadn’t spent a second since wishing you were elsewhere.

Your voice cut through the music flowing from the speakers built into his bedroom walls. “I’m not buying it, that’s all I’m saying.”

You twirled at the center of the rug and watched the fabric of Namjoon’s loaned t-shirt attempt to keep up with you. It hung over your frame like a potato sack, leaving a comforting weight as the excess material spilled over your shoulders and landed halfway down your thighs. 

Funnily enough, it fit like the dress it’d replaced.

Pausing to swallow down the last sip of the soju you’d been splitting, you gestured towards him with the empty bottle. From where he sat on his bed, Namjoon raised his hands defensively. That sheepish smile admitted that he knew your offense was justified.

“You’re a musician who is fluent in English. You’re also a human being living in a society,” you huffed. “There is simply no way that you don’t know the words to this song.”

He had to cover his face with his hands to muffle his laughter. Even before he hid behind his palms, you could see the way his mirth made his eyes swim. They sparkled even more in that moment than they had in the thousand other times he’d looked at you throughout the night. Once again, you tried to convince yourself that it was due to the rose-colored glasses you couldn’t seem to shake off. 

A trick of the light.

You were doing it again, and you knew it — conflating relief and hope; confusing the temporary sense of belonging somewhere with the ability to stay anywhere. You weren’t looking for this, weren’t looking for him, because you knew exactly what you couldn’t have. But you also knew that your heart was racing in your chest, and its rhythm was starting to sound more and more like, “maybe, maybe, maybe.”

Apparently, you’d been staring. Looking at Namjoon for too long made your knees wobble more than your sore muscles did, so you had to avert your eyes when you snapped back to reality. Brushing off that odd flutter in your chest, you brought the empty bottle back to your lips, tilted your head back, and belted out the lyrics you knew he knew.

“Oh, wake me! I'm shaking.” 

You took your clumsy choreography to the next level with an exaggerated shiver. Namjoon watched through the cracks between his fingers, unable to ignore the person coming unzipped mere meters away. Undeterred, you threw the back of your hand up to rest against your forehead.

 “Wish I had you near me now.” Then, you wiggled your hips in time with the ad-lib. It was barely audible underneath the chuckling from the audience. “Uh-huh.” 

His hands dropped to his lap as yours shot straight up into the air, where you held them. The expression on his face was indecipherable when he gazed back at you. Whatever it meant, it was quickly morphing maybe into something more hopeful and — terrifyingly — committal.

“Said there's no mistaking —”

Namjoon said it on an exhale, weightless and without any effort. It sounded natural tumbling out of his mouth and into the space between you. It sounded a lot like: 

“I think I love you.”

Without missing a beat, you reeled your arms back down and set the soju bottle onto a nearby dresser. Head tilted to the side, you crossed your arms and smirked. “How sure are you? Enough to wager on it?”

He didn’t seem at all surprised by the way you bought in immediately. You wondered if you truly expected him to be. After all, you weren’t, even if a reasonably well-adjusted person should have been. Perhaps, you thought, you weren’t one of those.

Namjoon’s response came just as easily as his first admission, a perfect volley. “At least seventy-nine percent sure.” You couldn’t see the way you lit up, but you’d have liked to imagine that it matched the way he did. Quicker still, he added, “And yes, I would. All in.”

There’s that magnetic pull again. 

You skipped back to where he was waiting on the bed and crawled over the mattress to settle in front of him. Up close, you could see the sakura tint to his cheeks; it blended perfectly with the faint freckles dusting over the heights of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. You’re beautiful, you thought, and it’s no wonder that the sun found you worth kissing.

Something about his proximity to you made you bold; you didn’t fight it. You simply smirked, “Then let’s make a deal, Joonie.”

Intrigued, he raised his eyebrows but didn’t interrupt. 

“Two years,” you hummed as you tilted your head to the side. Then, with a thoughtful finger tapping at your chin, you elaborated, “If in two years’ time you realize that you were right — and you’re one-hundred percent sure — you’ll win a prize.”

Namjoon nodded firmly. He put his hand out to shake on it, but you sat up on your knees. His gaze followed, leaving him to stare up at you as your fingers slid through his hair. You kissed him to finalize the contract, like all true devils do. 

“Deal,” he murmured against your lips.

It scared you, just a little, how melting into him already felt like a routine. Like you’d done several times already that night, you spilled into his lap with your knees on either side of his thighs. Namjoon’s arms accepted you immediately; they enveloped you, kept you anchored against his chest.

This time, it was you who laughed. 

Namjoon nudged your cheek with the tip of his nose. “What was that about sharing with the class?”

“I just — I’m not normally like this, you know? Completely unable to keep my hands to myself,” you snickered. “Can’t stop touching you.”

To emphasize your point, you removed your right hand from its place at the nape of his neck. Once your fingers were no longer woven through his hair, your fingertips traced light, languid lines, starting at his collarbone. Your eyes followed as your ministrations led you over the slope of his left pectoral muscle, down the bare warmth of his chest. 

“So, don’t.”

When your eyes flicked back up to Namjoon’s face, you got the impression that he hadn’t stopped staring at yours. Right hand trailing further down, you maintained that eye contact and watched his pupils blow when you reached the bulge in his boxer briefs. Experimentally, the pad of your index finger whispered along the length of his cock; you relished the subtle twitch you received in response.

“Is this where you want me to touch you?” You asked.

He was throbbing under your touch, growing hard once again, as if you hadn’t been at this for hours already. That didn’t stop you from driving him further wild. More breath than words, you teased, “Or here?”

With a light hand, you flattened your palm to encompass him more fully and squeezed, prompting him to curse.

“Fuck.” 

Namjoon’s eyelashes fluttered, but he seemed entirely unwilling to let them close. Desperate brown eyes pleaded with you, sending heat straight to your core. 

“Need you, pretty thing. Hand, mouth — doesn’t matter, just fuck me.”

Your fingers slipped away from the base until they resettled at the crown. Even without looking, you could feel the spot where his leaking tip had soaked through the fabric. He groaned when your fingers pulled away, though he stopped in his tracks when he realized where they were headed. 

Namjoon shuddered when your hand dipped under the waistband of his briefs and picked up exactly where you’d left off.

“How do you want it, Namjoon?”

As you stroked him, you pressed your lips to his. Slow, hungry, like you’d die before you’d get the opportunity again. 

To the best of his ability, Namjoon rolled his hips forward with each pass of your fist. And when you redirected that teasing pressure to his balls, he downright jolted, let loose some deep sound from the bottom of his chest. The sound hardly had time to dissipate before you felt the hem of your shirt lifting above your hips. 

Breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head, it was gone in an instant, landing somewhere unseen off the edge of the bed. Ridding him of his briefs was a more concentrated effort. You pushed up on your knees so he could shimmy them down far enough for you to discard them entirely.

“How are your legs, pretty girl?” His palms warmed the tops of your thighs as he massaged his way from your kneecaps towards your hips. 

Dipping his head down, Namjoon nipped affectionately at your earlobe and earned a squeak from you. His low chuckle vibrated through you. He was quick to redirect himself, though the teasing didn’t end at his teeth. 

“You seem to like being bossy, but I can take over if you’re tired.”

You feigned a scowl. “Are you baiting me?” 

The wicked grin on his face answered for him, but it was quickly replaced with wide-eyed surprise when you pressed your hands against his chest and pinned him back against the pillows.

He shrugged, eyes still sparkling with mischief. “Not my fault if you take it, sweets.”

“Never would I ever have assumed that Kim Namjoon is a pillow princess.” 

You pointed accusingly at him with one hand while the other slid into the space between you to line yourself up with his cock. 

Impish grin still locked and loaded, he leaned up on his elbows until your extended finger was centimeters from his face. He kissed the tip of it chastely between his words, like his own tip wasn’t dripping with you, seconds away from obscenity.

“Hook — line —”

You dropped down on his length, and it shut him up immediately. 

Though Namjoon was certifiably, world-endingly thick, you’d acclimated well enough to the stretch of him in your time together so far. He didn’t seem prepared for you to take him to the hilt in one fell swoop, if the way his head crashed back against the pillows could be taken as a hint.

With a swirl of your hips, you grinded down into his lap. Coquettishly, you finished where he left off. “Sinker?”

“Christ,” Namjoon groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut, then followed up immediately with a sheepish laugh. “Feel like I can’t even watch you do this. You’re too fucking good — never gonna make it out of here alive.”

Pride bloomed in your chest at the compliment, even though he was prophesying his own downfall between your spread legs. 

You imagined he could feel it for himself: you weren’t any more likely to survive. Not full of him, with your slick spilling down his cock as you bounced. Definitely not with the sick sounds of your ass colliding with his pelvis, squelching with every thrust. 

There was something blooming below your navel, but this time, it wasn’t pride. A tingling heat coiled tight, desperate to snap again. You needed it, but the burn in your thighs was stronger by far.

“Joonie,” you whimpered, incapable of caring about how pathetic you knew you sounded. Your head, previously thrown back, drooped forward to find him and his flushed cheeks fighting to maintain composure.

God, he looked as fucked out as you felt. 

Namjoon focused on you immediately, attentively, and your heart leapt of its own accord. He curled his finger and beckoned you to lean forward. 

“Come here, pretty girl,” he sighed.

Less gracefully than you would’ve liked, you all but crashed into him, sweat-slicked chest to chest. Arms wrapped around you like they were made for that very purpose.

Anchored.

Dangling from the last, frayed thread of your resolve, you were damn near speaking in tongues. Namjoon pushed up onto his heels and buried himself in you — over and over and over — at a punishing pace, hellbent on unraveling both of you at once.  

Your moan was halfway to a sob. All the words you knew had been knocked loose some time ago, leaving only his name and please. They rattled around your skull, alternating as they spilled out of your mouth.

“Say less, baby,” he panted.

There was a kiss pressed to your forehead, and then there were stars bursting behind your screwed-shut lids.

2020/11/2; 07:22

Namjoon sat across from you at his kitchen island with a mug of coffee in one hand and a book he’d forgotten the name of in the other. He’d started it over an hour ago, though the two turned pages might indicate otherwise. Instead, he’d spent his time attempting to read whatever scrunched-up, pensive expression you had written all over your face.

You hadn’t said much since the two of you sat down, just pushed your sliced fruit around your plate with chopsticks that had yet to pass your lips. Every now and then, you’d hummed in response to the random thoughts Namjoon relayed out loud. Ultimately, whenever you’d realized he said something at all, your eyes widened; and you’d blinked your way out of whatever daydream you’d gotten lost in.

He loved that about you, your internal wanderlust. Even if he didn’t always know where your train of thought was headed initially, he’d board it with you regardless, find out on the way.

Eventually, you plucked a blackberry off your plate and popped it into your mouth. Your eyes were still glued to your laptop when you started to chew. Then, he suspected that the tartness of it truly hit your tastebuds. The lightbulb switched on and you were back, beaming across the countertop, warming him like a UV lamp.

“Hi,” you peeped.

Namjoon loved that about you, too. Infinite hellos sprinkled throughout his day at random; feeling like you missed him whenever you looked away, and that you found it necessary to greet him when he finally stepped back into frame. 

He lit up, too. “Hi. Where’d you go just now?”

You swallowed. Whether it was exclusively the fruit or anxiety, too, he didn’t know. That is, until you claimed your bottom lip between your teeth and mumbled, “Got a weird email from the Overlord.”

The sip of coffee Namjoon had taken while he waited for your answer was a bad idea. He sputtered, nearly spitting it out onto that book he couldn’t care about. The would-be spit-take made your brows raise on your once-crinkled forehead; your amusement was palpable, even if you did him the courtesy of not laughing in his reddening face.

“If Bang finds out you call him that, he’s gonna want it on the nameplate outside his office,” Namjoon coughed. Clearing his throat, he bumped his fist against his chest to shake loose any coffee that might be lingering near his airway. “Weirder email than usual?”

You nodded, then you waved him over to you. It was an odd thing to be grateful for, but he was glad you didn’t just turn your laptop around and scoot it towards him to read. You always took any opportunity for closeness.

When he crossed around the island to you, Namjoon threaded his arms around your waist and ducked down to rest his head on your shoulder. The second he laid eyes on your screen, he was paralyzed. You had so many browser tabs open that none had enough space to display what they contained.

Is this what the inside of your brain looks like?

“Jagi,” he started, breathing in deep to keep from laughing with his entire chest. 

It was bubbling there beneath the surface, he could feel it. Begging for composure, Namjoon buried his face in your hair. Vanilla and honey. Instantly calm, perfectly prepared to nudge you further. “How — how did you even find your inbox?” 

Just to fuck with you, he pressed his fingertips against that secret spot on the right side of your rib cage. It was the one place on your body he’d been able to confirm was ticklish.

Eventually, maybe, he’d learn his lesson. Today was not that day.

You squealed, thrashed wildly in his hold until your elbow wound up on the right side of his rib cage. It was hard enough to make your point, but way too gentle to hurt. Still, Namjoon had to capitalize on it. He sucked in a gasping breath and stood bolt upright to clutch his chest like he’d been shot.

With you watching wide-eyed, he staggered backwards — away from you, away from the kitchen — until the back of his knees hit the sofa in the adjoining living room.

At some point, Namjoon would have to shoot up a thank you to the God of Entertainment. Somebody had clearly been looking out for him when open-concept apartments came into existence. His slapstick would’ve been so underwhelming if there were doorways involved.

Flopping backwards, his limbs splayed out across the backrest and cushions. Whatever parts of him didn’t fit spilled over the edge and dangled above the floor. He froze that way, playing dead with his tongue jutting out of the side of his mouth.

Waiting, waiting, waiting…

“Hope you watered the plants before you died, Joonie,” you called out. You sounded distant, like you hadn’t gotten up from your stool. “If you left it up to me, they’ll be dead soon, too.”

Joonie.

God, the way his heart still fluttered at that. Coming from you, that nickname didn’t sound stupid, or inspire him to choose violence. It wasn’t patronizing, wasn’t followed by some shit-eating grin. It was soft. Made him soft.

Jooniejooniejoonie.

“Actually, for all you know, I’ve got a tab open somewhere with an article on how to keep plants alive.”

Namjoon heard the faint scrape of the stool as you pushed it away from the counter. Then, the soft pad of your slippers coming his way. The hints were lost once you hit the plush living room rug, and so were you — until he felt your knees slotting on either side of his legs.

You settled down on top of him with your cheek pressed to his chest and your hair tickling his nose. Bravely, he didn’t sneeze.

Hand slipping down to the small of your back, he rubbed spirals into the space between the hem of your sweatshirt and the waistband of your sleep shorts. He hummed, “What’s on your mind?”

For more than a few moments, you were so quiet — so still — that Namjoon had to wonder whether his ministrations had put you straight to sleep. If that was the case, he’d keep going, blow off his to-do list for as long as he could just to keep you like this.

This. 

Neither of you had settled on precisely what this was. 

For nearly four months, this something was one of few constants in his life. Yours, too. It wasn’t a secret that needed keeping, but whatever this was felt too important to share. It belonged to the two of you, not anyone else — with the sole exception being Yoongi, who would’ve noticed the massive, tectonic shift whether or not he’d been the one to kick it off. Everyone else, though? Non-factors, as far as Namjoon could tell.

Until —

“Label’s expanding overseas.” It came out muffled, either because your cheek was smushed against his sternum, or because you really had fallen asleep in the pause. You continued, slightly clearer, “Putting a flagship sub-label in Los Angeles to crowbar their way into the American market.”

Namjoon wasn’t surprised, not really. Si-Hyuk had been daydreaming about this leap for as long as Namjoon knew him. It was only a matter of time before he got his little contractual ducks in a row. If anything, Namjoon was surprised that it took him this long to do it — what, with American money and American awards on the table.

But he knew you, knew that you didn’t give much of a shit about executive decisions, so long as they didn’t get in the way of your decisions.

That was precisely why he knew you were bringing this up for a reason.

“The hard launch is at the end of the month, so Bang is hoping to sign some of us over in the meantime. He’s trying to boost the curb appeal, I guess.”

You sighed and Namjoon felt the rush of air leave your lungs.

Namjoon nodded carefully to avoid knocking the top of your head with his chin. He sighed, too. “To water the plants.”

You didn’t say the quiet part out loud, but he could sense your brain working overtime; damn near hear your train of thought as it picked up speed. He half-expected to feel heat seep from your head to his chest while all your synapses fired off at once. 

The warmth came from your eyes instead. You shifted so that your chin rested in the space between his pectoral muscles; and as soon as your gaze settled on his face, the crease between your eyebrows relaxed. Your pupils dilated, too, blown wide enough for him to notice the shift.

So, that’s what love looks like. 

Not merely a neurochemical reaction or some grand, Hallmark-style gesture. Love looked like you, looking at him, while a wave of patent relief smoothed out the worry digging trenches in your features. And if he had to describe how it felt, well… The only word that came to mind was home.

“Is he asking or telling?” 

Part of him wondered; the other part knew there usually wasn’t much of a difference between the two. 

Even more quietly than before, you responded, “Asking — like, actually asking.” 

The wrinkle in the center of your eyebrows reappeared, informing him immediately that you were split between the answer you wanted to give and the one you felt you should. Namjoon wouldn’t dare to make that call for you — to press down on either side of the scale — so he leaned forward and kissed you in the middle, right on top of that conflicted little crease.

“Joonie,” you started in a tone split three ways. Shy, sad, and sparked with a sense of hope that made you wary.

Bang Si-Hyuk wasn’t alone in his daydream. You brought it up considerably less than he did, but Namjoon sensed that this was because you didn’t want your motives to be speculatively linked with the prospect of profit. That would be the furthest thing from the truth. 

For you, it was about your craft — Namjoon felt comfortable calling it that —  and the million ways you could improve it with new collaborators, new ideas, new experiences.

For Namjoon, it was about you; and hoping that when you dove into life head-first, you never touched the bottom. Wanting everything you wanted to fall straight into your hands like confetti. And, if he could remain just a little bit selfish, he wanted to stick around and watch you catch them all. 

If you wanted him, too, the rest of it would fall into place, one way or another. It’d have to, because Namjoon was struggling to remember how his days passed at all without you laughing through them. Maybe he’d have to reacclimate to sleeping without your knee pressed into his back, but he was confident that he could. 

He could wait for you until this detour was over. 

He would wait for you.

Without needing to think twice about it, Namjoon kissed your forehead and smiled with his lips still pressed to your skin. It was routine, as easy as breathing when he said, “Say less.”

You both stayed there on that couch for a while, though he couldn’t guess how long. Simultaneously minutes and months, but somehow — confusingly — it didn’t feel like the clock was moving at all. He could’ve easily believed that the universe has pressed pause on the moment, but you peeped and he had proof to the contrary:

“I’d be there by Thanksgiving.” 

The realization clearly made you a little bit giddy. If your tiny gasp hadn’t given you away, your pulse would have. Namjoon could feel that hummingbird heartbeat against his own rib cage, and — shit, did that fondness squeeze his heart with a vice grip

You sat up, wild-eyed and urgent. “Is pumpkin pie just for colonizers, or are they obligated to share it?”

Fuck, he loved you.

“Joonie, this is serious.” You pouted and it was all he could do to bite back a grin. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

He nudged your cheek with the tip of his nose and smirked, “Just do what they do.”

“Steal it?” You snorted, devolving into a fit of giggles when he began to pepper kisses down your cheek, then along your jawline.

Eighteen in total, one for every stroke.

Saranghae.

Namjoon hummed in agreement, “Steal it.”

2021/6/19; 04:11

Most people — normal people — were in bed at four o’clock in the morning. You were not most people, though situations like this were becoming more and more normal to you. Unfortunately, you’d been forced to learn that normal and easy weren’t interchangeable. If they were, you’d have gotten used to taking the red-eye by now. 

This was your third late-night flight. Not at all coincidentally, this was your third trip home since you left it for Los Angeles. You’d spent seventy-eight hours in the air, making this trip; flown more than 57,480 kilometers in less than a year.

Seven months, technically, but who’s counting?

The elapsed time seemed to run in dog years, though the calendar maintained that only seven months had passed. At the rate they slipped through your fingers, it felt like seven years of trying your best to take advantage of every break in your schedule. Flinging yourself across a black sky on a semi-regular basis, even if you’d just gotten off a tour of your own. Praying that the odd hours and lack of layovers meant your thirteen-hour trip didn’t steal a second more than was absolutely necessary.

Time, you’d learned, was a luxury you failed to properly budget for. Unable to do much else, you accepted whatever scraps you could afford. Make them worth it, you’d demand of yourself each time you landed at Incheon. Every time, your excuse would follow: I’m trying, I swear, but I’m so tired.

Instead of a bed, you were slumped in Namjoon’s passenger seat, clutching the small bouquet he’d brought you in a hand too exhausted to register the brush of soft, white petals. You’d never lose track of his fingers interlocked with yours, though. His touch was inimitable, and the warmth of it stuck with you long after it was gone.

“Pretty,” you mumbled, gaze zeroed in on the flowers. You lifted your right arm to bring them in for closer inspection. It was futile, mostly, given how bleary your eyes were. You guessed, “Baby’s breath?”

This airport ritual of his combined two of your favorite things: the careful consideration he made in choosing flowers that conveyed messages, and the dimple that appeared on his cheek when you guessed correctly. Gifting you an additional prize, Namjoon raised your clasped hands off the center console. Without taking his eyes off the road for too long, he flashed a sleepy grin at you and kissed your knuckles.

Fuck, you loved him.

He turned onto the expressway, let your hands drift back down between you, and yawned. Automatically, you yawned, too. 

As he drove, Namjoon’s sleep-drenched brain did its best to ask about all the updates you might’ve acquired since your last phone conversation. He asked about the extended play you were writing, the weird leak in your apartment, and the only friend you’d truly made in the time you’d lived there.

“What’s their name again?” He asked, visibly embarrassed that he’d forgotten. “Jisoo?”

With a chuckle, you corrected him, “Jinseo.”

He echoed you firmly under his breath, clearly determined to commit it to memory this time. Word association was apparently part of that process, you realized. Your heart fluttered wildly when Namjoon proceeded to state the first thing that came to mind about her, proving that he did listen when you talked.

“Jinseo’s the attorney who tried to slide into Yoongi’s Instagram DMs,” Namjoon stated, as if he were being quizzed. “He never looks at them. She’s been checking for three weeks to see if he’s even opened it.”

The way he recited this fact made it sound like he’d learned it from a book, rather than overhearing your friend’s complaints directly while he spoke to you on the phone. Still, he glanced at you for confirmation that he was correct. You nodded, proud.

Then, you provided the update he’d been seeking: “For the record, he still hasn’t.” 

You mustered enough energy to laugh along with him, but neither of you was awake enough to keep the conversation going. At least, you hoped that was the case. The alternative — that you’d run out of things to talk about — was worse. It was all you could think about, and now silence crept into the lulls, sitting heavy.

Namjoon was the first to speak again, after a long pause: “It’s lunchtime back home, isn’t it?”

It was an innocent question — a caring one, checking in on you — but it struck like a sucker punch, nonetheless. There might come a day that association didn’t sting, but you knew intrinsically that this wasn’t it.

Los Angeles wasn’t home, even though you’d lived there for the better part of a year. Seoul wasn’t home, either. You had no real roots in either location, continuously jumping back and forth between the two. Namjoon was home, though he was beginning to feel temporary, too.

“It’s so early for you, Joon.” You squeezed his hand. “We can go back to bed, and grab food later. I’m not hungry yet, anyway.”

A lie, but a well-intentioned one. You hoped your stomach kept quiet, kept your secret.

Though he wasn’t looking in your direction, there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes that you couldn’t have missed if you tried. You were sure it matched yours whenever the sixteen-hour time difference made you miss his calls. His schedule lately had made them fewer and farther between.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon sighed. 

He meant it, and he emphasized as much with a reciprocal squeeze of your hand. It stung, knowing that he was apologizing for all of it, up to and including this moment; and that neither of you was at fault for any of it.

“We’ll be back in sync in no time. I’ll —”

You cut him off with a whisper and your best attempt at a smile, “Pssssst.”

Thankfully, Namjoon was stopped at the only red light that still separated the two of you from his parking garage. Otherwise, the way his alarmed eyes flitted in your direction may have had consequences.

“Say less,” you mimicked, like any of this felt the way it did before. He beamed, but his grin left just as quickly as it appeared. 

Namjoon looked away when the light changed, unaware that your face fell before you could catch it. Something that insignificant shouldn’t have had the power to make you that sad; but it did, and you didn’t know what to do with that fact.

The rest of the ride continued in silence. If Namjoon also felt like that silence was suffocating, there were no hints about it in his expression or his posture.

Does this feel easy to you? Am I the one making it hard?

He had to let go of your hand to park in his assigned space, and he forgot to reach for it again when he finished. You knew it wasn’t intentional, but that didn’t make it hurt less. Didn’t make the tears biting at the corners of your eyes any less embarrassing.

For two people as jet-lagged and otherwise exhausted as you were, it didn’t take long to drag yourselves from his car to his apartment. It took even less time for Namjoon to begin shuffling off towards the bedroom. Halfway there, he realized you weren’t still close behind. 

“Where —?” He turned his head to search for you before he turned his body fully. Ultimately, he found you hovering near the kitchen island. The relief in locating you was quickly diluted with concern. “You okay?”

Are we? Is this?

“I think I left my phone in the car.” You patted down the pockets of both your joggers and your jacket, brows furrowed. Then, you picked up the keys he’d just set down on the counter top. “Gonna run down and look for it.”

Too tired to be steady, Namjoon swayed slightly where he stood. You couldn’t help yourself. That magnetic pull tugged you over to him, pushed you up onto your toes, and demanded that you kiss him until that confused frown curved upwards. 

For a moment, you smiled, too.

“Go back to bed,” you whispered, leaving a kiss at his temple. You hadn’t meant to speak so softly. Your voice was caught wherever your breath was, and they refused to cooperate. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

He nodded, accepting a proper kiss before his bedroom-bound shuffling continued. Out of sight, you heard the thump of his lead limbs collapse back into his mattress. You felt it in your chest, which was tightening by the second.

You turned for the door, ready to run, only to stop dead in your tracks. Just ahead of you, tending to a snake bite, was Eurydice. The sight of her portrait hanging on the wall threatened to rip out the sob you’d worked to keep buried. She was all you could think about when you slipped out the door, and stumbled down the hall.

Maybe Eurydice would’ve lived if she’d never met Orpheus.

Shoulders shaking by the time you reached the stairwell, you shoved your hand into your pocket as you crumpled downward onto the concrete steps. You pulled out your phone and gripped it tight, like closing your fists around it could keep you together, too.

With the extent of your tears, you couldn’t make heads or tails of that bright, white screen. You did what you could, though, like you always did. Warbled voice bouncing off the walls around you, you found a loophole and slipped through it. 

“Hey, Siri —” 

The swirling grey, red, blue, and green at the bottom of your screen looked more like a life-preserver than anything else. Automatically, you pleaded, “Call Yoongi.”

It was a fifty-fifty chance, calling him at this hour.

He’d either be awake because he never went to sleep in the first place, or he’d have just drifted off. Either way, you were already sorry for bothering him. When he picked up on the first ring, that was the very first thing you said to him. 

Immediately, his tone shifted from the grogginess of his initial greeting. Now, he sounded worried. You wondered if you’d woken him up, but you didn’t ask.

“Hey — whoa, whoa, whoa — what’s wrong? Your plane didn’t crash, did it?”

He wasn’t trying to be funny and you didn’t mean to laugh, but you did. Sort of. It was some odd, gasping sound that felt wrong as it came out of your mouth.

“I’m fine,” you kept repeating, as if you could manifest the outcome. “I’m fine. I just — I need someone to tell me if I’m crazy, or just doing this whole thing wrong —”

“Doing what wrong?” Yoongi cut you off. “It doesn’t sound like you’re breathing properly, if that’s what you mean. Can you take a deep breath? Count to five on the inhale and on the exhale.”

You did what he said. It helped with what it was meant to, but hyperventilation had been the least of your concerns.

“Sit on the floor if you aren’t already. If you can, lean your back against a wall and flatten your palms on the ground, okay? That’ll help you feel anchored.”

Halfway compliant, you slumped against the metal railing next to you. You threaded your left arm over the lower of the two rungs and held on tight. Part of you wanted to laugh at this, too. It wasn’t much different than the safety bar on a rollercoaster; the way your stomach dropped was identical.

“I can come get you if you tell me where you are,” Yoongi continued. “That twenty-four-hour place has lamb skewers now. We can eat, and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

You didn’t know where to start. All of it, you thought, it’s all wrong.

The answer you blurted out was, “I love him.”

“I know, kid,” Yoongi sighed, and it sounded like an apology. He didn’t need any further explanation. “I know you do.”

Your voice broke when you continued, splintering painfully in your throat. It wasn’t a question you had any conscious intention to ask. It was simply shrapnel flying out of your mouth: 

“Is loving someone supposed to hurt this much?”

2021/11/13; 14:36

Your fourth trip home felt different than the rest. There was something in the air that you couldn’t quite put a finger on. Whatever it was, it’d kept your stomach in knots from the time you left your apartment until you wandered through customs in Incheon. 

It’d only gotten worse when you finally reached the sidewalk outside the airport. Your first instinct had been to cry, though not for the reason you usually did; you’d swallowed that urge with a hastily taken sip of boba. Just like he had for your three previous homecomings, Namjoon was waiting for you, flowers in hand. 

Flower, singular.

Of the two of you, he was the one with encyclopedic knowledge of floriography. Regardless, you knew enough to understand what that lone, white tulip said. It was an apology; and by now, you were well acquainted with those. Even still, you hadn’t gotten any better about accepting them because he still hadn’t done a single thing to be sorry for.

Sorry.

That word had slowly mutated into a punctuation mark over the last year. It’d wormed its way into every sentence, whether or not it had any business being there.

Hi, sorry, I was in the studio when you called. I love you, sorry. I miss you, sorry. I’m so proud of you, sorry, I wish I could have been there.

You heard it even when neither of you spoke, felt it in every bit of quiet. It sat between you on the drive from the airport to that restaurant you used to like — the one by the lake. It filled your unoccupied hands on the walk in from the parking lot, rested like a centerpiece in the middle of your table.

Neither of you ate much. You wished you’d had some semblance of an appetite, if only to fill the pit growing in your stomach. To distract from the way Namjoon’s eyes went glassy whenever he looked at you, or to keep your bottom lip from trembling.

Silent and sorry, the two of you watched the wind force waves; which, in turn, forced anchored row boats to collide with the dock.

Anchored.

There was that word again.

It’d been sitting untouched in the backlog of your vocabulary for longer than you’d care to admit. You knew its dictionary definition, of course, but it’d never been a word you’d ascribe to yourself. Leading up to last November, it wasn’t a feeling you’d knowingly craved, either. If you were honest, you might have hated it and its synonyms, too. 

Rooted. Tethered. 

They were on the tip of your tongue now, finally yours to taste. It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing that your resistance to them had always been a coping mechanism. Your amygdala trying to intervene.

Until you met Namjoon, stability had been unfamiliar and elusive. It’d outrun you for so long, there’d only been one conclusion left for you to leap to: You didn’t deserve to catch it.

But you did catch it. You found him, opened yourself up to believing that you were the kind of person who got to have roots. For a year, you tried so hard to nurture them, loved the beautiful thing you’d grown in spite of yourself. 

You earned them, so why couldn't you keep them?

Namjoon noticed your breathing pick up. He knew you well enough to see precisely what direction your brain was spiraling in; and that you needed a gear shift. So, he hummed, “Been thinking about changing up my hair.”

“Oh?”

It certainly caught you off-guard, but you figured that was the point. You weren’t sure if you should have — or why you felt you couldn’t — but you reached up to run your fingers through it. Longer than last time, lighter.

“I’m not sure if the blonde has ever actually suited me,” he laughed. “What do you think? And, seriously, give it to me straight.”

You nibbled on your lower lip as you studied him. No matter how many times you stared at his face, you uncovered some new, favorite feature. Today, it was his irises, warmer than you remembered them being. Namjoon became more beautiful the less you saw him, as awful as that thought felt.

“I do like the blonde,” you mused. His cheeks blushed, just barely, but it squeezed your heart to know that was still a reaction you could pull from him. “But I think it would be nice to see Kim Namjoon as he exists naturally, you know? I haven’t met him yet.”

He smiled — genuinely, with his eyes and all his teeth — and it ached. 

“I’ll make a note of that,” he promised with a laugh. Then, he gestured to your largely untouched plate “D’you want a box for that before we go?”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. It slipped out before you could stop it. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”

The corner of his mouth lifted again, less happily than the last time. You knew as soon as you saw it that his half-smile was an apology, too.

2021/11/25; 19:59

Over the last week, Jinseo Kang had spent more time in your apartment than in her own. The spare key you’d given her at the start of your friendship was intended for emergencies, and while this wasn’t what either of you had in mind back then, that was the only word she could use to describe the state of you now.

In twelve months of knowing you, she’d gathered enough trivia about you to fill a memoir. Of the facts she’d collected, two came to mind immediately whenever Jinseo thought of you. The first was that you were a workaholic to a borderline clinical degree; so resistant to rest that the mere thought of being unproductive gave you hives. The second was that, despite the cursed hours you kept, you were never not in contact with Min Yoongi.

Since you’d flown back from Seoul, you’d done neither. 

Jinseo didn’t have to ask to know what happened; you didn’t need to say a word. In fact, you hadn’t — not that she’d heard — since you touched down at LAX, two days ahead of schedule. The only reason Jinseo even knew to pick you up was a direct reply on Instagram that didn’t look a thing like she’d hoped. Worse, the only way she’d been able to recognize you in her passenger seat was by the signature, mint green headphones clenched tightly in your hands.

Immediately, she’d noted the absence of your smile. That was a seismic shift, in and of itself. As was the case with those pastel headphones, that smile of yours wasn’t something you’d ever be caught dead without. Part of you never got off that plane, she’d thought then. Looking at you now, crumpled on your couch, Jinseo knew better. A piece of you was missing long before you boarded that return flight in the first place.

From your kitchen, she glanced over at the heap of blankets, though she didn’t know why she bothered. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t done much of anything since you shuffled out of bed at two o’clock in the afternoon. Still, she had to check for proof of life. Proof that you were still there, somewhere, even buried.

Illuminated by the television screen and underscored by A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, there was movement. Half-hidden by a pile of knitted throws, she spotted the top of your head. Like it did every other time she saw the tangled bun sitting crooked there, her heart sank. I know you’re in there. I’ll find you, I promise.

In the absence of an instruction manual, she’d have to make one. This was a crash course — what to do when love dies in slow motion — and Jinseo was flying by the seat of her fucking pants. Maybe she didn’t know how to pull you out of this pitfall you were trapped in, but she could hold your hand and refuse to let it go.

So, that’s precisely what she did.

Before making her way to you, Jinseo grabbed the dish she’d been preparing off the counter. Spare fork in hand, she rounded the kitchen island and made a beeline for you. You didn’t react when she reached you, unless you counted the way you hugged your knees a little tighter to your chest. Jinseo certainly didn’t; she would’ve sat directly on your feet if you hadn’t cleared the space.

This close to you, she could see the way your jaw was still clenched. Going on eight days now, it was impressive, in some sick way, that the unrelenting pressure hadn’t left you with a mouth full of dust. See? She wanted to grab your knee and shake it, make sure you heard it loud and clear: Look what you can survive!

She didn’t, though. Jinseo simply held out the plate in her hands and stared at you expectantly until you sensed her gaze on you. Red-rimmed and glassy, your eyes lifted to meet her face and she was not going to cry at the sight of you. Nope. Swallowing thickly, she glanced pointedly at the plate, then back up to you. 

You were unfazed, barely conceding a blink. You didn’t even look down.

Please, sweet bean. Please eat something.

She tried again, nudging your knee with hers. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

For whatever reason, that holiday greeting was the only thing to reach you in a week. Finally, you looked down.

Jinseo hadn’t finalized her expectations prior to this moment, but the short list had included an eye roll, a groan, something. Even if you didn’t reciprocate, she would’ve been grateful for a response of any kind. Her list hadn’t included you bursting into tears over a piece of pumpkin pie, but that’s exactly what she got.

Charlie Brown can go fuck himself. There’s no such thing as good grief.

It was a reflex, dropping that plate onto the coffee table like it’d bit her. With her hands now free, she grabbed your shaking shoulders and pulled your limp body towards her until you all but collapsed in her lap. Even then, she squeezed you tighter.

I will not let you shatter. I will not let you slip away.

The two of you stayed there, just like that, for however long it took you to let go of the tears you’d stockpiled for eight straight days. And when you were finally quiet — finally still — Jinseo thought for sure that you’d finally fallen asleep.

“I think I hate him.”

Your voice was weak from lack of use; so much so that Jinseo could barely register that you’d spoken at all. Once she did, she didn’t know where to start.

Quietly, she asked, “Namjoon?”

With your head in her lap, Jinseo felt it shake. Again, you surprised her.

“Yoongi,” you whispered. God, you sound so broken. “I can’t stop thinking about it, and I know it makes me a bad person, but I’m so fucking angry at him. I went to that party because he begged me to. I wouldn’t have — I wasn’t looking for him.” 

Your voice cracked. “I wasn’t looking for him, for anyone. I’ve lost everything, and I don’t know what to do now. I’m so angry that it hurts.”

“That’s grief, sweet bean,” she corrected you gently. You sniffled, glanced up at her from the corner of your eye. “Not anger. Grief is just love with nowhere left to go.”

At this, you sat up more fully than you had in eight days, albeit looking more hollow than you ever had. Face tear-stained and bottom lip quivering, you croaked, “I don’t know what to do with it all.”

“Call Yoongi,” Jinseo hummed as she squeezed your knee. “If you need a place to put all that love you have left, then write one.”

2022/7/7; 00:00

Namjoon couldn’t remember the last time he had a day go the way it was supposed to; and frankly, he was getting sick of his own shit.

That morning had started off fine. 

Scratch that. 

It started off as well as he could possibly expect it to, waking up in an empty bed with no kneecap pressed into his spine. He drank coffee at his kitchen island, alone, and ignored the blackberries he’d unwittingly scooped onto his plate with the rest of his fruit. Dumped them in the trash before he lost his mind over a berry. Read half a book and remembered none of it. 

All things considered, Namjoon was doing just fine.

Unfortunately, things started going off the rails somewhere around sundown. He and Yoongi had wrapped up the last track on Namjoon’s upcoming release; and for once, Yoongi agreed to leave his studio. Agog and aghast, Namjoon dragged his favorite recluse to every sordid bar in that pocket of the city. As he piloted his tailspin, Namjoon repeated one thought, over and over:

Any dive he stumbled into was better than an empty apartment.

As he spiraled, he drank enough to blur the image of you, which was plastered on every television and burned inside his brain — but not too much. Namjoon learned a long time ago that he couldn’t sleep if he went to bed alone, so he made a habit of not doing that. After all, he didn’t have to like himself; he just needed to live with himself.

Whatever her name was, Namjoon only fucked her because she looked like you.

Her presence on your side of the bed might’ve summoned you because, when he finally checked his phone, your name was tied to a missed call. Better — or worse, he hadn’t decided — there was also a voicemail. The thought alone left him dangling precariously between wanting to cry and needing to vomit. Phone in hand, he staggered toward the bathroom before he’d made his choice.

Closing the door behind him, Namjoon leaned back against the wood. Everything was spinning, though none of it could be attributed to the whiskey he’d had several hours prior. This was all you.

You and that gravitational well he couldn’t ever seem to leave, trapped at his furthest point from you and growing colder all the time. Darker, too.

Aphelion, he remembered with a humorless laugh, not sure if or when it’ll ever be like this again.

Fuck!

Namjoon startled himself when he slammed his hands down on the counter, less due to the involuntary action and more due to the fear of breaking his phone. In a panic, he glanced down. It was perhaps the one thing left that he hadn’t shattered.

Typing in the code to his voicemail felt like disarming a bomb, given how urgently his fingers moved. He needed it, whatever it was that you deemed important enough to say to him. Needed you, but this was the closest thing he had, and that was fine.

“Hey, Joonie. It’s me — well, that much is probably obvious, I guess? Uhh — Anyway, Yoongi mentioned that you finished cutting the album today. I just —”  

Namjoon’s racing heart stopped dead in its tracks. You’d paused for so long that he feared the recording stopped there. Thankfully, you started up again, taking his pulse along with you.

“I just wanted to say, congratulations. You’re — I’m sure it’s incredible,” you sighed, “I hope you’re proud, and I hope you’re doing well.”

He was neither of those things. It’d been months, and it still hurt to breathe whenever he thought about you. He thought about you all the time, asleep or awake, no matter what — or who — he attempted to distract himself with. No matter how much of himself he lost track of in the process.

You were all he wanted, all he wants, all he’d ever want.

Namjoon caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Purposefully avoiding his own eye contact, he looked up, just above his crumpled brow. That bleached blonde hair still didn’t suit him, now even less so than when he asked for your opinion that day by the lake. He made a note of what you’d said, just like he'd told you then. It’d been sitting inside his medicine cabinet since the day after his whole fucking world exploded. 

Jaw clenched, he broke the magnetic seal between the mirrored door and that bottle of black dye.

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[dailycass-cain]

Alright time for my thoughts on the McFarlane Toys Target exclusive DC Multiverse Gold Label Batgirl (Cassandra Cain) action figure.

As I said when the figure was first announced it's a "Frakenstein's monster" of past McFarlane Toys Batgirl (Barbara Gordon) figures.

The top is from the "3 Jokers" Batgirl while the rest (including the belt) is based on the very first Batgirl figure McFarlane Toys released (the Sean Murphy redesign).

It's not the first time Cass has borrowed from a Babs Batgirl figure. Mattel did it. Even Imaginext did a Burnside Batgirl in all of Cass's colors.

So it has all of their articulation.

Comparing the prior McFarlane Toys Cass figure (the Page Puncher from last year). Comparing the two in molding details, paint, and accessories: the left-hand one is exceptional.

However, articulation the right hand Batgirl wipes the floor with the other. The Pagepuncher is quite hard to stand up by itself without the stand and you can only do a few poses with it due to the molded on batskin lower gear and belt.

Even with it being old molds from McFarlane, the new Batgirl figure takes the crown of being the most posable Cass action figure ever. Destroying not only the DC Direct pair.

So what about it and the Mattel (the long-running champ)?

Well, articulation-wise, McFarlane Toys takes Mattel with "newer" action figure tech. What really takes the crown as THE BEST Batgirl action figure is one of its new parts and its "secret weapon": the wired cloth cape.

The fabric ain't Mafex quality (you can see through the cape). However, like a Mafex the wire is in there go with no fear of popping out. Because it is a wired fabric (and not plastic) you can get some pretty AMAZING pictures with this Cass.

The cape and newly sculpted head make this probably THE best Batgirl figure we've gotten (so far) because you can get Cass in some crazy kickass poses.

If there's a big gripe I have with the figure is the accessories we get. They're from the Murphy Batgirl, and while the grapple gun got a HUGE paint makeover, the BIG Batarang (while also repainted) just feels so out of place.

Instead, McFarlane should've just given us alternate fist hands or an unmasked face (either would've made this would've made it even better).

That's where MODDING comes in handy.

Even with the flaws, this figure is something to behold. It's a game-changer. All caped Bat Fam members have to be content with this exceptional figure and now those who came in the past feel "dated" because of it.

On the plus, for Cass to be the one to get this. Yeah, it feels GOOD. Like, years of wait and McFarlane Toys gives us this banger of a figure.

Like, I keep taking either one I own and begin messing with it with crazy posing.

IT'S JUST SOOO GOOD! 🥺🥺🥺

Therein lies the final flaw.

That this figure IS a Target exclusive. Cause with all I've said, I can easily see this figure being IN DEMAND, and like DC Direct Stephanie Batgirl (or Mattel Cass) before her probably eventually carrying a HEAVY price tag in the aftermarket over time.

Unless of course, McFarlane Toys pulls a McFarlane Toys and does variants with this figure over from now and then. I can easily see it given that this figure is called BATGIRLS (Cassandra Cain).

You don't say that and not tease a future Steph figure.

Cause um Stephanie needs one given we only have two (DC Direct and Mattel). It feels… wrong.

So if already don't have this figure, and you see this figure on a Target shelf? BUY ON SIGHT. You won't regret it. This figure is EXCEPTIONAL even with the reuse. The wired cape and Cass's design aesthetic makes her so GOOD.

Dare I say she's the best McFarlane Toys female DC figure?

I dare. I DARE!

So those who have her: what do you think? Do my words add to what you feel? Do they not? I'd love to know.